Basket Case
by Va Vonne
Summary: SEQUEL TO 'RADIO'. With Hermione and Draco's new relationship underway, it is now Draco's sanity that suffers the most. Is he truly as crazy as everyone suspects him to be? Or is it something else that is horribly messing with his head. Read & review!
1. Psychosis

**Vonne: **Hello! I'm so glad you've all come back to read the second part to 'Radio'. There's a long story that goes behind why 'Basket Case' (for some of you) seems to be starting from the beginning again without any reason at all. But, to make a long story short... by accident I deleted the original 'Basket Case'. Yes, that means all fifteen chapters of it. I had meant to delete a different story I had pretty much rotting in my profile and yet, without thinking, deleted 'Basket Case' by mistake.

I hadn't even noticed that I had done so until **M.R . girl** sent me a message about it. I was mortified. I hadn't saved a single word of this 'Radio' sequel and I was not about to rewrite fifteen chapters that I had already penned down all over again! But **M.R . girl** had actually saved all fifteen on her computer! Seriously, she saved the future of this fiction and saw to it that it got an ending after all. So, I have to thank her profusely for that. I would not have been able to revive this story without her.

I apologize to all of you who sent me messages about the missing 'Basket Case' that I never got to respond back to. Thank you for all the concern and interest in getting this back up and running!

So, with all that being said, I will update the chapters as I go along. And then I will be able to continue where I left off. I am still hoping to get the reviews back, as well.

Thanks so much! -Vonne

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**Prologue:**  
**Psychosis**

Laying on his front in the mass darkness, a rather blond boy of twenty-two gave a slight shift in what had been a fairly sound sleep. It was, of course, the most peaceful bit of rest he'd endured in a long while and he wasn't entirely sure on how to take the most of this once in a lifetime moment. Halfway under the bed sheets, his pale foot gave a slight twitch and, rooted in the delusion of sleep, he gave a rested groan before shifting slightly on the mattress. From the looks of it, a spectator might have guessed that the man was, all things considered, a rather normal one. He was almost healthy-looking, besides being a bit too skinny and far too pale, and he lived in a house that was considerably comfortable. However, the average onlooker may not have known that the man they'd been scrutinizing was none other than that of Draco Malfoy, who had spent five years of his life living all but normally.

But it was far more than the simplest abnormalities that had been plaguing one Draco Malfoy. From what he'd learned, the man had come to realize that these strange things were almost bound to happen to him one way or another. But it was because he'd gone almost two weeks without anything out of the ordinary occurring in his life, he had, for the first time in a long time, considered the worst to be over. Of course, he'd been bitterly mistaken. As Draco slept soundly for the last time in a long time, a long scratch filled his silent head and his eyes broke open with a forceful start.

Whatever the scratching had been, it was pulling its way through the halls of the very house. The long, overdrawn sound was prolonged, as if to purposely make its way into Malfoy's very mind. Then finally, after a long while, the scrape, which was not short of fingernails running horribly across a chalkboard, stopped. But Draco Malfoy, however, kept going. His eyes not even completely adjusted to the blackness, he stared in space, his forehead breaking out in a slight sweat. Momentarily, he glanced around his bedroom, a rather tidy room as of currently. But the sleeping area contained nothing heavily out of the ordinary, minus a long slender wand and a discarded and unused broomstick at the corner. Though perhaps the noise was only that- a noise that was not to be taken seriously. With his breaths nothing more than broken inhales, Malfoy remained silent and waited for the noise to come once again.

_"Draco..._" something high-pitched and horrible said in his eager ear, "_Draco, it's been long. Far too long..."_

Consequently, Draco shot upright, his breaths having doubled in their size towards the act of hyperventilation. The room shrunk around him. His heavy shoulders once again carried the unmistakable weight that he'd once thought to have shed. And still, he was almost completely rooted to the mattress, holding on to the sheets like a lost child, unsure as of what to do next. Then his eyes glanced over to the tiny radio, a silly little toy he'd kept by his bed whenever he'd thought he could get away with it. However, his consideration towards using the thing was instantly put down. The last time he'd spoken with Hermione Jean Granger was, regrettably, two weeks ago. He couldn't exactly give her a ring now, not at this moment, when he could barely even compose himself. _"Draco, where have you been? We've got some things to further address..."_

Malfoy's clammy palms grabbed for the edge of his throbbing temples. Tormented, he brought his weak knees to his head, hoped that his father would bust in the room and claimed to have heard it, too. However, in the back of his mind he'd known that such a desire was rather far fetched. He, Draco Malfoy, had been hearing the same high-pitched voice for quite some time and all he needed to do was find the source of his problem. Rather, get his head straight. But why was it that he could hardly pick himself up from his mattress? As he contemplated the act of locating the voice he'd known was only in his head, he knew that getting up was going to be a new accomplishment entirely. His legs were far too shaky, his heart pumping nothing but battery acid. If he could just get a move on, maybe progression wasn't too far ahead in the future.

He drew in a deep breath, yanked the covers off of him completely, and stood beside the bed. His entire body ached and though, as to why, he was completely unsure. All he knew was that the bedpost was the only true thing keeping him properly upright. He glanced around, heard the breaths of the man he knew he'd never truly forget. Lord Voldemort was, even dead, rooted in his life. "_There is..."_ the voice calmly breathed, _"so much left unfinished."_

Barefoot and uneasy, Draco released his fingers from the sturdy bedpost, only stumbling slightly as he drew himself away from it. His head was restless, his chest heaving spastically. And what was he doing, anyway? Searching for the speaker that he knew only to exist in his mind? However stupid and unnecessary the act was, his denial and pride was, characteristically, far too developed. Consequently he forced himself through the room, and pushed the door open with anxious aggression. The hallway expanded desperately before his very eyes, winding down before him like the body of a massive serpent. He stood behind the doorframe, surveying it, and then extended his foot into the section of the house, watching the Manor as if through someone else's eyes. The entire house seemed foreign to him. Though he'd grown up in the enormous building, he almost didn't recognize even the family pictures that hung on the walls. These photographs were almost way too old that have been at all familiar to him. And as he watched himself at eight, smiling devilishly with his pretty mother and his handsome father, he could have sworn that the boy was someone else entirely.

Draco neared the steps and he looked down them as if he were about to plunge down a significantly steep cliff. He could hear Voldemort's rattling breaths, the root of them coming from the living room. Shaking, he approached the first step, handled the railing with extreme care. As he descended, he mentally scolded himself. What was he doing? Surely, at two in the morning, the likes of a dead man paying him a visit were, quite frankly, fairly slim. The sensible part of his mind told him to go back up the stairs, get under the covers, and go to bed. But Draco Malfoy knew more than anyone that he was far too long gone to even listen to a single sensible thought. No, whatever thought forced him urgently forward, that was the thought that he minded. Still unstable, he pulled himself to the middle of the staircase, his eyes bolted to the frame that exposed only a fraction of the family living room.

In the dark, Pettigrew's insufferable scratch marks lined the wallpaper, a decoration that had once made the house almost impossibly lovely. Now, the ruined wall dressings only reminded him of everything he had tried so hard to forget. Though perhaps it was not in Draco Malfoy's being to be able to forget... perhaps remembering was something he would always be doomed to. _"Ah,"_ the voice said, more than heavily amused, "_I knew you'd come back, sometime."_

It seemed so real, that voice inside his head.

The severity of his thoughts kept him rooted to the last step. His feet had never felt so heavy. And what was almost unfathomable was the fact that he'd managed to push himself, almost too desperately, from the very last step. He stumbled into the open space before the living room, his mind racing.

Voldemort, his awful voice said almost triumphantly, _"every dead body that is not exterminated, gets up and kills. The people it kills, get up and kill."_

It was now or never. Move forward or go back. Time to think about a decision was no longer an option. With the breath of a dead man so realistically pumping in the mind of Draco Malfoy, there wasn't truly much more he could do. Furthermore, he plunged himself towards the daunting room. Darkness was instantly thrust upon him. In the blackened room, Malfoy could only now hear his own breathing. Panting, the noise bounced mercilessly off of the walls. Everything around him seemed so utterly hollow. Standing there dumbfounded, he felt completely solitary. If he hadn't known any better, he would have reckoned that his parents were not up stairs asleep in their bed after all.

His entire body was shaking, almost fit-like with the anticipation of it all. There he stood, almost drenched in his night clothes, bare feet sticking to the stone flooring uselessly. His night shirt stuck to his chest in the same way that his white-blond hair stuck to his forehead. His throat was so dry that he could hardly find it in himself to swallow, though he desired desperately to rid himself of the large lump that was rooted in the depth of his throat. And there he was, alone, standing at the edge of the living room, his shoulders low and limp at his side. The light of the moon outside was, in fact, his own source of enlightenment. The large illuminated globe shone down on the center of the room ever so slightly, reflecting nothing to him but the marble stone of the floorboards.

And so, what was it, exactly? What had he proved to himself by investigating the voice that was so obviously in his head? The realization that there was no dead man lurking about his house in the early morning was, if anything, only further indication that he was not sane. He breathed out, blinked the sweat from his eyes, and walked himself towards the couch, flopping on top of it with a lifeless breath. Even as tired as he was there, his own foolishness disheartened him. And he'd gone two whole weeks without a single problem in the world. He should not have come down at all, should have left the event as just that, an event that should have gone ignored.

Thus he leaned forward, pressed his head into his palms, and hoped he could simply fall asleep as such. Truly, he did not think he even possessed the strength to head back up the stairs for a second time. Though perhaps the fact that he was in fact alone was a good thing. At least he wasn't seeing things.

_"Finally,"_ the voice breathed, this time so close to Draco's ear that he had to once again get back up, _"you can never truly leave..."_

And there he was. Standing before Malfoy in the flesh, or at least, what was left of the flesh, was Lord Voldemort. The smile on his face was so carved in to his skull. His two eyes were blank and locked only on to Malfoy. His jaw seemed almost impossibly unhinged. In his dark luminous cloak, the Dark Lord looked every much alive as he looked dead. And the rotting corpse extended his hand out towards Draco, several of his slender fingers missing completely. He touched his hand on Draco's face, though Malfoy could not truly feel anything upon him. However, he could see the dead man so clear, as if it were day. Nonetheless, he could feel himself loosing everything- his posture, his strength, his consciousness. The room was spinning before he even knew it, everything whirling around in dangerous circles expect for Voldemort himself, who stood still throughout the mental earthquake that tormented the mind of Draco Malfoy.

_"So much to do," _the voice told him as Draco felt his eyes flicker up to the back of his head, "_and so little time."_

So perhaps the worst was not over for Draco Malfoy, perhaps the worst had only just begun. There, as he stood havering in his own delusional earth-quake, it took only a matter of minute moments for Draco's body to go entirely limp. His body stumbled over in parts; his knees went first, slapping the marble tremendously too hard. And then his head, colliding with the floor with an effortless bit of power. And then both the voice and the corpse had gone, leaving Draco to nothing but the night's false solitude.


	2. Of Avenues and Alleyways

**Vonne:** I am overwhelmed by all the reception I have gotten back, even just by posting the first chapter back up again. I promise never to accidentally delete a story again. I am beyond the point where I just click on things without fully reading them first. That being said, the initial act of deleting 'BC' was, of course, my fault completely... as FF asked me twice if I 'was sure?'. Anyway, thank you to everyone who rereviewed and all the new people who decided to submit one anyway, with or without a FF account! I will still be doing reviewer responses, however, those will continue next chapter.

I would, however, like to address the question asked to me by **pearlrose33. **I will eventually be adding some touches here and there to the chapters that I've already submitted, but mainly I will be working on the final chapters of 'Basket Case' from nineteen on to the end (which will be thirty). I don't know what my fascination with thirty is in all my stories... that number just seems to compulsively complete things for me.

I realize that you've all reviewed this chapter at one point or another, but reviews really do help me know that there are people still reading this (even though I found that out form the last chapter. Thank you again). You can review with questions to me, or anything. I always read them all.

Anyway, back to chapter one... or two, considering I'd numbered 'one' as the prologue. Alright, I'll end this now.

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**Chapter One:**  
**Of Avenues and Alleyways**

Winter had come, quite admittedly, much faster than Hermione Granger had even anticipated. She had seemed to have lost any track of time completely and now, feeling somewhat left over, all she could do was try to recompose herself. It had been two weeks since she'd spoken to Draco Malfoy and, despite herself, she found that she understood the situation. Still, she couldn't deny the stupidity of her acceptance. What she should have done was get angry. However, she'd simply kept the silly little radio nearest her whenever she found doing so possible. Currently, standing frozen against the back of a large brick building, she had to resist stuffing her hand in her coat pocket just to brush her fingers against the thing.

"What're you doing?" said a sly voice, one that was instantly familiar. She turned her head to one side, scanned the figure of Ron Weasley, and shrugged slightly.

"Only resting," she said, half annoyed, "now, if you'd please, direct your breath away from the front of my face." Ron made a scrunched face and turned his head to one side, muttering slightly to himself. Between his thin lips rest the bulk of a large cigar, a hobby both he and Harry had taken to after the war. Of course, Ron thought that the look of it made him look cool, however he looked nothing more than a small child while doing so. Nonetheless, Hermione made it a point to remind both he and Harry of how out of place they'd looked, despite funding much pleasure in their obvious disagreement. Sloppily, Hermione slouched away from Ron, crossed her arms across her chest, and huffed, "you'd better be careful and carry identification around with you. Sooner or later someone's going to wonder why there's a fifteen year old smoking in public."

Face falling, Ron pulled the thing from between his lips, gazed up at the roof above him, and said messily, "well, Harry says it matures us." At twenty-two, Ron Weasley could, perhaps, use a bit of maturing still.

"Was he drunk?" Hermione counteracted, hardly skipping a beat.

"No, he wasn't, 'Mione. Dammit." With a harsh flick of his wrist, Ron thrust the cigar back in his mouth and said aggressively, "what's you're problem lately, huh?"

Hermione stopped, considering this. Her problem? Perhaps it was that she hadn't stopped fretting about Draco Malfoy for fourteen long days. Or, rather, her problem was merely just Draco Malfoy in general. While she understood his situation, she couldn't quite help herself from growing a bit moody on the exterior. However, since Ron had absolutely nothing to do with her issue, Hermione dropped her rigid aroma. She relaxed, shrugging and said hesitantly, "you're right, Ron. Sorry. I've just had far too long to think and now, it seems I've overanalyzed just about everything." At the sound of Hermione's admission, Ron did a double take. His cigar drooped slightly in the crook of his mouth and he didn't really say much other than a well-noted grumble.

"Well," he said dubiously, "right." And scuffed backwards towards the entrance of the building. When he'd disappeared, Hermione finally relaxed, once again dazing off uselessly. She shifted slightly and crossed her legs at the ankles. Freezing even in her thick coat, she fiddled with her bulky scarf and let her eyes scan the streets before her. Winter was, as a matter of fact, her least favorite time of the year. It was far too freezing to do anything, though at the moment, she didn't truly feel like sitting in front of the heated fireplace. It was more accurate to say that Hermione was slightly off-balance from her happy-medium. Sniffling meekly, she watched her own breath twirl around the front of her nose.

And then she strode away from the building, her hair out wildly behind her. Frustrated, she pulled her hair behind her ears and tied it anxiously behind her head. Maybe she should pick up smoking and now would be a perfect time for it, too. She could no longer feel the tips of her aching fingers- perhaps a bit of smoke would warm her up.

"Finally!" came a sigh from Hermione's ear as she walked ruthlessly pass the nearest deep alleyway. A pale hand grabbed at the front of her collar; she was yanked almost furiously to the left. She stumbled quickly, breathing hard, and her hand plunged greedily to the side of her coat pocket. Impulsively, she sent her elbow into her captor's face, forcing the fingers from the front of her shirt on impact. However, whoever was holding her back was far too quick. She was seized once again and, over the confused grunts, Hermione whipped out her wand conclusively.

She stood slanted, caught slightly tangled with the stranger. Her wand was stretched out threateningly and she could feel the breath of the newcomer hot on the front of her freezing face. But finally when her vision cleared, she could just make out the outline of the very person she'd been dying to see. As if shocked by electricity, Hermione's fingers loosened and she pushed herself away from Malfoy. "Draco!" she squealed, pushing him hard enough to send him stumbling back. Malfoy's foot caught curiously on the bottom of her trousers and he fell back, colliding with the alley floor quickly. But Hermione was too busy grasping her heaving chest. She too had stumbled backwards, her back against the brick wall, her eyes wide in disbelief. "Draco, what the _hell?"_

Malfoy scrunched up his face, newly analyzing his beaten up palms. "Well," he said, begrudgingly, "what a pleasant 'hello'."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione spat, still hysterical, "you pulled _me_ behind some dark _alleyway!_ I- I c-could have hexed you or something!" Still attempting to calm herself down, Hermione slowly stepped away from the wall behind her. She steadied herself and smoothed out her freshly strung head of head. She swallowed, having a hard time taking in the sight of Draco, who was on the floor, gazing up at the sky ruthlessly. She resisted the urge to spring forward and offer him help up. Still, the most she could do was stand there and gawk. After a while, she said shakily, "w-what are you doing in an _alleyway?"_

Draco was clamoring back up to his feet. He used the tin trash bins for support and did not bother to dust himself off. As he stumbled into the light, Hermione could tell that he was oddly sickly looking. However, watching him even in hysterics, she'd realized how much she truly did miss him. "Hermione," he said, breathless, avoiding her question altogether, "I have to talk to you."

"Well, Draco," Hermione scoffed, "it's been two weeks. I'm assuming you've got a whole bunch of talking to do."

"Listen," Draco said, quick, but not commanding. He was instead only just trying to catch his own breath and looked as if he were having quite a difficult time doing so. "Listen, H-Hermione, I saw him." Hermione scanned Draco's visage and noticed that he was both drained and flushed at the same time. The tip of his nose had been light up a rather bright shade of red, while the remainder of his face was cast a ghostly white. The dark circles under his eyes had been, perhaps, due to a lack of sleep altogether.

Still, Hermione couldn't help but stop and listen. So long had she spent restlessly worrying about Draco Malfoy that there was no other alternative option for her. While the look of frustration was still etched obviously on her face, the tightness in her chest dropped. She lessened the tension in her shoulders, approached him slowly and asked carefully, "saw who?"

But Malfoy appeared as if he would pass out at any given moment. His movements were jittery and he looked up at her with a tired gaze. "Voldemort," he said, his shoulders low, his hands out open at his side. He looked as if he were ready to accept a punch to the stomach. He watched her closely, waiting for a response; Hermione, however, was completely dumbstruck. How was she supposed to respond to such a claim? Instead, she only watched Draco watch her, a continuously ongoing circle that really did neither of the two much good at all.

"You," she said additionally, once she knew that she should say something, "saw him?"

Malfoy nodded, a lost child still confused about a rather vivid nightmare. "He touched my face," he said conclusively and somewhat embarrassed.

"He touched your face," Hermione repeated, stoney. Though she was rather unaware as to how exactly to respond to _that, _as well. Draco didn't move. Instead, he stood rather still, waiting for something revolutionary. "Draco..." Hermione started, but stopped, still contemplating what exactly to help him with. "Draco, you were sleeping, I'm sure. Sleepwalking, that's all." Malfoy's head swung loosely back and forth. He looked sincerely disappointed with her answer and to that, Hermione felt somewhat disappointed herself. "You're," she tried again, shakily, "just having nightmares, okay? There's nothing... to worry about."

And though Draco wasn't completely buying it, he loosened up, swung back to the brick wall, and pressed his own unsteady back against it. Breathing out, he nodded anxiously, ran his quivering hand through his hair, and said as if to convince himself, "okay."

"Okay?" Hermione said, smiling. To make her point, she strode towards him, pressing her back against the wall near him. Then, matching his action, she ran her own palm through her head of hair and leaned back completely. With that, she scrutinized the sky, blinking up at the stars vividly. It was a rather peaceful night, despite it being colder than she could have anticipated. Both her and Draco's breath circulated around their faces, dancing beautifully in front of their faces before disappearing entirely. Finally, when she'd given the moment time to calm itself, she said timidly, "how are you?"

Draco clutched his temples, squinted his eyes shut tightly and replied back honestly, "loosing it."

"You know what I mean," Hermione sighed, trying to steer Draco away from such a topic entirely.

Inhaling, the blond boy looked up. A bit startled and humiliated at the same time, his face dropped completely. Sincerely, he tried to explain, "I'm sorry I didn't..."

But Hermione held up her hand. She wasn't looking at Draco at all, in fact, her attention had been focused elsewhere above her. "No," she shook her head calmly, "don't be." Still watching the night sky through the tops of the tall brick buildings, she exhaled, adding, "I didn't either." Then, after a while, she said, uplifting, "see? Looks like I'm messed up, too, huh?"

"No," Draco said, his face draining. He'd taken Hermione's comment much more seriously than she'd initially intended. "Once in a blue moon you're flaky. Me? I'm absolutely mental _and_I don't think! Brilliant."

Hermione cocked her chin up, dropped her hand into Draco's, and interlaced her fingers around his. "Stop," she advised soothingly. "Look up at the stars, would you?" Draco's mouth flung open instantly to object, but Hermione only squeezed his hand gently tighter. "It's beautiful, isn't it? But I don't know why you choose to hang around shady alleyways to get a glimpse of them. There's a lot better viewing spots for this type of night, I can imagine."

Malfoy scrunched up his face, accepted Hermione's proposal of simplicity, and watched the night along with her. Considering her last comment, he asked quietly, "are you making fun of me?"

Hermione didn't move. She smiled, however, just out of the corner of her mouth. Slyly, she shook her head, brushing him off. "Shh," she hushed, teasingly, "just look at the sky."

And so Draco Malfoy, tense and worried and not completely insane, dropped his shoulders, sighed heavily, and did exactly what Hermione told him to do. "I need to book a second therapy appointment," he told her, once he'd thought he'd done quite enough looking for a lifetime.

"Shh," Hermione shushed, still not able to entirely wipe the smile off of her face. "No more talking, Draco. You're only worrying yourself."

"Hermione," Draco said, leaning back, "I'm seeing things."

"How about you see the sky?"

His hand still wrapped in hers, Draco muttered begrudgingly, "you're unbearable."

But Hermione's grin only broadened. Instead, she nudged him playfully with her elbow and, for the first time that evening, a slightly smile spread across Draco's face as well. "I'm glad to see you again." Hermione said, up at the sky, however, she was speaking more obviously to Draco.

"Perhaps better circumstances would be more suitable," Malfoy muttered, once again reverting back. His eyes glazed over and Hermione knew exactly what he'd begun to think about again. Though, this time, she thought better than to try and get his mind off of his own faltering sanity. And, truly, there was nothing more for him that she could do currently. He was right; seeing people was not a good sign.

However, it was Malfoy who really could not get his head to stop spinning. The way he saw it, Hermione was correct. And he wasn't going to tell her about passing out. So, quietly readjusting himself, he leaned back and tried to calm himself. Though he was rather comforted with Hermione, even if the comfort was only by a fraction this time. "I already told you, Draco," Hermione said softly, "I'm going to help you get through this. It would help if you'd just trust me, okay?"

"Okay," Draco agreed, swallowing hard.

"Now," Hermione said, fixing herself finally. She permitted her hair to swing wildly out in front of her; there was no use in trying to calm it now. A bit of white snow fell gracefully between them and Hermione watched the rest of it drop from the blackness above them. "Look at the sky, would you? It's gorgeous."

Hermione was right; it was gorgeous. For a moment, he found himself slightly breathless at the first sight of it. The snow fell gently from the nothingness, just dripping down, lovely at their feet. Somewhat numb from the cold and the ice, Draco leaned his head back for the last time. Then, decisively, he looked up.

* * *

"You know," Gregory Goyle was saying to himself as he pondered over the silverware in his house, "I could give Pansy a new dining set. Maybe it'd soothe any awkwardness we'll face when we _do_ actually speak to each other again."

Sighing, Malfoy readjusted himself on Goyle's couch. He was tired, almost too tired for such a silly conversation, but he managed to say out loud, "I think any awkwardness involving Pansy at the moment is rather inevitable. Sorry, mate." The night previously he'd spent in an alleyway with Hermione, staring at the sky for much longer than he'd ever anticipated. However, the session of scrutiny seemed to actually fly by. Draco had, actually, found it rather hard to leave Hermione once the night ended. And that was a good thing, right? However, that was the sole question he'd been asking himself about all day. Was he in such a state to try and have a relationship at all? Quite frankly, Draco didn't know and, so, he sat lifelessly on the surface of Goyle's couch, attempting at least to sleep on it.

Goyle huffed, turned around on his heels, and tossed his hands up in the air. Conclusively, he drew out a breath. "Well, Draco, you didn't exactly help the situation."

Malfoy curled himself up into a tight ball, said with his eyes shut, "can we not talk about this, Goyle? I'm having a mental breakdown enough already."

There came an abrupt slam of the kitchen drawers and Goyle was striding away from the kitchen at once. He crossed his hands across his chest, took one look at his friend, and said unsympathetically, "fine, you win this round. But, just know... I think you deserve it."

"Thanks, mate," Draco said back at from underneath himself, "good to have your support."

Goyle sat himself down on the couch opposite of Draco Malfoy. He looked down at him, still rather stiffly. However, he added, "look, you said Hermione thought that you were fine- just dreaming, right?" His head pressed down at his forearms, Draco nodded harshly. "Well then," Goyle continued, "if you disagree, then book a therapy appointment."

Grumbling, Malfoy buried himself deeper, hoping that Goyle would get the obvious hint. However, Goyle was far too determined to allow his friend to literally burrow himself away from the topic entirely. He instead remained more focused on the subject. He listened to Draco mutter something in disagreement and then Goyle leaned back. Making himself comfortable, he set down his tea, relaxed on the couch, and breathed out ruthlessly. "Are you saying you don't disagree, then?"

"I'm actually not saying anything at all, Goyle," Draco insisted.

"Alright, fine." Goyle breathed out. He looked around the room and then leaned back even further. Oh, how he was going to enjoy saying his last bit of news out loud. "Well, since you're not taking it too seriously, I have been."

For the first time in that evening, Draco's head shot up. His eyes watched Goyle curiously, locked upon him without any motion whatsoever. "Goyle," he said uneasily, slipping up from his spot on the couch. He seemed to melt completely away from his sleepiness. "Goyle, what are you talking about?" Just by watching Goyle's stone face, Draco could tell that there was something about his friend that could not go ignored. However, a sly smile spread across Goyle's chubby cheeks. He was very much basking in Draco's nervousness. "What do you mean 'you've taken this seriously'?"

Goyle shifted slightly, said conclusively, "I meant exactly what I said, Draco. Because you've failed to do so yourself I've..." Goyle stopped. His confidence seemed to instantly falter. Eyes moving away from Draco completely, he attempted to look out the window. Still, he continued onward, watching the snow fall on the hills outside his small home. "I've... booked a therapy appointment _for_ you."

Malfoy's face fell. Physically, his face reddened, flushing with fury. "Goyle, you didn't," he demanded, his palms cradling his weak knees. "Tell me, you're joking."

"'Fraid not," Goyle shrugged. But Draco's face was growing redder by the minute. "You weren't going to do it, Draco," Goyle said additionally, "you were just all talk."

Looking as if he were about to crack rather than explode, Draco yelled helplessly, "I was taking small steps!"

"Steps far too small, mate," Goyle counteracted. However, what his revelation had done to Draco was almost far too much like a train wreck. He couldn't, of course, draw himself away. Yet, oddly enough, Draco seemed rooted to the spot. He'd pulled himself up from the couch, heaving in and out spastically, and his blond hair was around his face in a mess. "Relax, Draco," Goyle said, raising a hand uselessly, "it's only a reservation. I mean, if you don't want to show up and look like a total _arse_... it's up to you."

"You bastard!" Draco yelled, nearing Goyle furiously. He pulled from his pocket his wand and held it shakily up to Goyle's chin. Goyle, however, looked down simply unimpressed.

He cocked his eyebrow upwards and said blankly, "what are you going to do, Draco? Hex me for booking you a therapy appointment?"

Malfoy swallowed, tried desperately to steady his arm. He was shaking, however, much more than he'd expected. "I ought to!" he cried, looking much more like a madman than ever before. But when he'd stood fearful in front of Goyle for what seemed like several moments too long, he thrust his arm downward, gripped his head, and said dauntingly, "alright... okay. Y-you're right. Not a big deal."

"'Course I'm right, mate!" Goyle exclaimed, getting up from the couch and extending a hand out to the hysterical boy. "It's just an appointment. You've been to one of them before- nothing you can't handle, I'm sure." With that, he clamped his meaty palm on Malfoy's back, comforting him briefly. Still, he retreated away from the coffee table and walked slowly towards the kitchen, leaving Draco in a slightly nauseous stance at the couch. He could even hear Malfoy's heavy breathing from all the way by the sink. Nonetheless, he took out the dirty dishes from the counter and placed them carefully into the sink, running the water so he could scrape them clean. Over the rush of the faucet, he added happily, "you go in there and tell her how you've been having some bad dreams. She'll probably tell you to quit drinking tea- and alcohol- and to get more active... wear yourself out a little."

Malfoy's hand slipped down the front of his face. Miserably, he repeated, "quit drinking tea and liquor. Get more activity. Sounds... normal."

"Sounds perfectly normal!" Goyle echoed, smiling. "I promise, you've always been a bit nutters. You're not going any more mad than you've already been before, mate."

Face draining, Malfoy moaned desperately, "I need a drink."

But Goyle spun around on his heels, a new look of obvious concern on his large face. "Now that wouldn't be wise, Draco," he said in a matter-of-fact sort of way. Conclusively, he thrust down his dish towel and leaned back against the counter. It was rather apparent that he was enjoying getting Malfoy back and up on his feet again. Once again, Malfoy's face contorted. He no longer wore the look of bleak desperation, but a whole new expression entirely. Instead, he appeared as if he'd never heard something so pointless in his life. Utterly baffled he dropped his hands, looking rather lost.

"What do you mean you don't think that is wise?" he asked, suspiciously, just then noticing the happy glistening about Goyle's joyful expression.

"I mean," Goyle clarified, checking the clock against the wall ahead of him, "you wouldn't want to show up intoxicated to your first appointment, would you?"

Glancing at the clock, Draco resembled a lost and miserable child. His mouth opened slightly and he literally looked as if he were going to be physically ill. "First app-?" he stammered, "what the bloody hell are you on about?"

"Well, considering you've got about, err- let's see... one and a half hours?" Almost literally stuck to the floorboards, Malfoy's shoulders sunk. However, Goyle seemed more than happy to pick up his friend's stuff from off of the floor. Gleefully, he handed Draco his peacoat and his newsboy hat, sticking them in Malfoy's unmoving arms. He tossed the olive scarf back in Draco's direction and returned to the sink, where he poured out the remaining tea that had been left over in the steaming hot kettle. Then, finally, when he'd finished his business, he leaned back against the counter. With that, he sipped his own tea carefully, peering over the rim to say at last, "well, you should get going."

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**Vonne: **I realize that you've all reviewed this chapter at one point or another, but reviews really do help me know that there are people still reading this (even though I found that out form the last chapter. Thank you again). You can review with questions to me, or anything. I always read them all.


	3. All the Mad Men

**Vonne: **I would LOVE to get down to regular business now, so, with that being said, here we go...

**MCLanna: **Thank you! As I've said before, I really appreciate when people come back and review this, despite already knowing what happens up until chapter 19. I realize that there are a lot people new to this story, as well. But, still, you know?

**Le Candeh: **Thank you very, very much!

**Cherie26: **Of course I'll update this as soon as possible. I realize that, for some people, it's fourth of July. But ever since I moved out of the United States, I haven't celebrated much of the 4th! So, with that being said, I will accept that it is a holiday for some people and hope that, once they've all celebrated with their liquor and booze, they come home happy to find that yet another chapter has been posted for 'Basket Case'. And that, of course, would make a very joyful July 4th! Happy birthday, America!

**Linda: **Thank you!

**Solemn City: **I _did_ notice, and I _was_ wondering- but it's totally fine. I'm flattered. It's funny cause, while they are similar, they are also pretty different. I mean, I can read MINDS! ;)

**Kyvnn: **Sure! Definitely! I hope that you enjoy/re-enjoy this chapter!

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**Chapter Two:  
All the Mad Men**

"Just relax, Mr. Malfoy, just breathe." The tall and slender woman seated opposite Draco Malfoy spoke in nothing but proper cliches.

Hands tucked into his lap, Draco was actually proud of himself that he'd managed to get this far, despite Goyle's own personal persistence. Still, for the life of him he couldn't remember the woman's name. There she was, scrutinizing him lightly, the little floating quill and paper up by her right ear. All things considered, what's-her-name was far too professional for Draco's fancy. And, additionally, she was typical. Every couple of moments, she raised her brows, scribbled down a couple of notes, and paused as if to continue her scrutiny. However, it was the mere idea of therapy that unnerved Draco the most. No matter how long she stared at him for, how many notes she scribbled down, nothing could beat the fact that he was, of all things, sitting before her permitting it.

The therapist crossed her legs at her ankles, made herself comfortable. Well, good for her, but Draco Malfoy was not relaxing as easily. With his clammy palms between his knees, he watched her watch him, almost blatantly unsure as to what to do next. But he was not left to take the plunge. "Your friend Greg sounded very eager to see that you would pay me a visit," she informed Malfoy with a slight smile. Malfoy's face fell in response. "Looks like everyone's rooting for you, Draco. It's a good thing you came back. I think that proves that you're willing to take the first step." Galer! That was it, Elaine Galer.

Leaning back, Elaine Galer, the typical therapist, made motion for her quill to take more notes. "Is there anything you want to tell me, Mr. Malfoy?" Draco's blood ran cold. Why he'd been so put off by the question was completely unbeknownst to him, however, he wasn't really sure he even knew how to answer it. Did he have something to tell her besides the obvious? He'd been hearing and seeing things that weren't really there. But he should have been able to say that out loud, knew that sooner or later he would have to. Now, however, was a different story.

He said instead, "before we get too far in, let's make one thing clear: once upon a time, I liked myself."

But Eliane is far too professional to let a comment go unnoticed. Tilting her head, even her quill stops mid sentence. "Oh?" she says calmly, "and how long ago was that?"

An entirely new bit of nervousness crept over Malfoy. Still, he wasted no time in answering her question. "Six years ago," he told her, more prepared to answer than she would ever even know.

"That's a long time, Mr. Malfoy," Galer noted, thus sending her quill back to note taking spasms. Draco's eyes watched the feathered thing, trying not to think about what it was she was writing down. Truthfully, he thought, it took a specific type of person to attend a therapy session. Someone who could just say such personal things to a complete stranger was, quite honestly, a unique individual. And Malfoy had never considered himself this special type of person. But despite his unease, there was something almost forcing him to do so. Invisible though it was, he knew it had to be done. Besides his nausea, he felt, in fact, that he was doing what seemed like an adequate job at being vulnerable. "Okay," Galer concluded, looking just as serene as ever, "now, I understand you've been having some nightmares recently."

Draco's face drained of any possible color. Goyle. That slimy bastard. He'd hex him the next time he saw him. "I... I'm not-"

"Relax," echoed Galer, once again, "just relax, Mr. Malfoy." While her smile was still present, Malfoy couldn't help but feel even more uncomfortable around her professional exterior. Why was it that talking to Hermione was much easier? Once upon a time, he'd loathed her. But now was different and, shifting slightly, he tried to pretend that Hermione was somewhere close to him in the room. Fingers at his trouser pockets, he felt for the silly little radio. "The one about Voldemort?" she offered, looking slightly sympathetic, "can you tell me about that? What significance does this have to you?"

"It doesn't," Malfoy told him, and this was far from the truth. Galer, however, didn't buy it, but she did not say anything to signify that she planned to press the subject. Instead she only nodded, silently waiting for him to continue on. Looking up, Draco talked with his hands. "I'm standing in the middle of my house and the roof is half way gone. And," he said, feeling even more ill than before, "and." Perhaps it was too soon for a therapy appointment. Perhaps Draco was right- he just wasn't the therapy type of person in the first place. "The sky is twisting above me... I'm sorry, do you have to write this down?"

A slight pause made Draco's heart skip a beat. Eliane Galer's face was blank and curious at the same time. "I'm only here to help you," she said slowly, as if trying to tip toe around any sort of sore subject. "You only have to tell me what you want to tell me. My notes, on the other hand... they're for my eyes only and they're just that- notes."

The snow outside was falling gracefully on the building's old attributes. Touching the large fountain outside, the water floating in its contents seemed like it was in risk of freezing over. Though the room was only a small one, perhaps somewhat like the size of an average apartment building, the yard out back was a considerably long one fenced off with a thick black gate. Noting the gate door, he considered leaving the place altogether. He could leave, but what would leaving prove? "I'm standing in the living room," he continued, looking down at his feet, "and through the hole in the roof I can see the sky, which is this deep blue." Draco swallowed something hard in his throat. He ran a sweaty hand through his hair. All his nervous habits, they didn't help as much as he'd anticipated. Over and over to himself, he tried to focus on fact: he was twenty-two years old and these dreams, like it or not, were his. He'd dreamt them, now why couldn't he say them out loud?

"It's windy out, storming even, and the wallpaper is scratched off so that the wood is showing on the other side. And I-I c-can hear my father screaming someplace off in the kitchen and... and V-Voldemort, too." Eliane Galer didn't flinch. How strange it was to say the sole name out loud that, so recently, everyone cowered over. Now, however, it seemed like the whole idea of the situation had turned around completely. Draco Malfoy was the only one still uncomfortable saying it. In the dark room of her office, all Draco could hear was the scratching of her quill from the walls around him. Someone in the next room, the waiting room, screamed and then something heavy fell over. Draco winced, but it was Galer who carried on as if such things were ordinary, everyday issues. Responsively, Draco's face flushed. He didn't want to tell her this part, but something pushed him to do so: "And Dumbledore's there, too."

"Dumbledore," Galer repeated, nodding. Nothing seemed to phase her. This woman, it seemed, was used to such madness. "What is Dumbledore doing?"

Malfoy slouched slightly in his seat, feeling instantly humiliated. He'd made up his mind; he was going to kill Goyle the very moment he'd walked out Eliane Galer's daunting office door. "D-Dumbledore's at the end of the hall and I can just barely see him but... but I know it's him." Shakily, Malfoy pressed his face in his hands, almost too humiliated to even look Galer back in the eye. This dream, this nightmare, it was only one out of one hundred. "And he's d-dying, screaming things out to my over V-Voldemort's s-screaming."

"What's Albus Dumbledore saying, Draco?" she pressed on, looking up at the paper and then back at Draco. Couldn't she see that he didn't like this? Or, rather, did it not matter? Either way, stopping was not an option. He'd promised himself, promised Hermione...

Draco felt the instant sting of something freshly large in the depths of his throat. "He's asking me to let him help me."

"And?" Galer asked, undaunted by his sudden feeling of heavy despair. Her voice isn't demanding, but failingly careful. She was only there to assist, but Draco only wanted to get out through the door. "And, in your dream, are you considering accepting Albus Dumbledore's offer to help you?" Despite the silence that loomed heavily in the cold darkness, Draco Malfoy shook his head, an enormous lump mercilessly gathering in his throat. "Then what?" Galer asked.

The quill, the one spastic above her head, its taking notes like never before. With every passing moment, it stops and takes more notes, perhaps about the silence and its length, even. "I wake up." This was, quite frankly, a lie. As he recalled the nightmare to him, things had gone rather differently. With Dumbledore offering him his assistance towards a better life, he'd ignore him, looked for a voice of his father instead. But the further he went away from Dumbledore, the further he got from his father's presence. And the sky above churns in a way that he'd have never seen it do so in real life, outside of his thoughts. And then, in the nightmare, something brittle and rotting grabs his ankle. And though he cannot see what it is, he's fallen on his chin, being dragged back into the dining room, back into the table of Death Eaters, farther and farther from Albus Dumbledore. So he'd lied, but what else would have he told her?

Scribbling almost annoyingly, the quill had started off in hysterics. Something stung at the side of Malfoy's head. If he'd been more nervous before, than it was nothing compared to what he'd felt like afterward. But where was the relief he'd prepared himself to feel? Wasn't he supposed to relish at getting all of that tension off of his shoulders? "Alright, Mr. Malfoy," Galer proclaimed, settling herself slightly in her seat. However, she did not stay. Instead, she plucked herself away from the soft cushion and stood before her desk, the quill at her head just about settling down for the afternoon. "We've had a very good session this afternoon. I think that will be all for today."

Blinking, Malfoy pulled his head up from the palms of his hands. "T-That's... all?" he asked, uneasily, feeling a drop of sweat trickle down the side of his throbbing skull. "W-We're done?"

"That's it!" Elaine Galer exclaimed, once again smiling. She echoed again, "we're done!"

A short numbness momentarily bothered Draco Malfoy. He sat dumbfounded on the long couch and then stumbled to his feet, looking rather lost. "I don't," he said in a matter-of-fact sort of tone, "feel any different."

"You'll have to come back to make any significant progress," the woman said, sounding even more like a therapist than before. She smiled sweetly, as if she'd truly meant no harm by saying it. However, there was a spark behind her eye that showed that she was serious. Then, noting Draco's curiosity, she approached him silently, her long skirt moving like a plain brown wave. She watched him analytically behind her glasses and Draco's heart sunk, hoping she wasn't seeing something suspicious. Nonetheless, she extended her hand and placed it on his sunken shoulder, steering him towards the exit slowly. She was saying soothingly, "it takes some time to feel a bit better, you'll see. You just have to give it some time."

But Malfoy was still walking in a daze. "B-But," he asked, "what about m-my dreams?"

Galer stopped at the door, adjusting herself. The floating quill and paper bobbed slightly, still following her head. "As far as I can tell," she said reassuringly, "they're just dreams." Then, true to Draco's suspicions, she instructed, "get some exercise, chew some _Valerian_ root. As for your health, it's too soon to tell. But don't stress yourself about it- get some rest, alright. Just relax, Mr. Malfoy. Will I be seeing you next week?" Slowly, Galer's hand was creeping towards the door knob. Finally, when her fingers found the shiny brass ball, she slid the thing open and revealed the large waiting room. Somewhat blinded by the light, Draco's eyes adjusted to the sunnier room. But there was only one person present, reduced to only a slight black figure in the corner, out of place in all the brightness.

All Draco could manage to do was nod, for the dark figure in the corner was peering out at him, just barely watching him out of the corner of his glossy eyes. "Alright, Mr. Malfoy," Galer smiled, turning back to her office room. She did not even seem to take any more notice to the spare being. In fact, she only glanced at him, noting his presence, and then took to her previous business. "I will see you then, same time. I think we will make sure progress in due time." Her voice was disappearing just as her retreating figure. "Take care of yourself." With that, she was gone, having shut the door completely, leaving Draco and the shadow alone in the bright room.

For a moment, Draco stood stupidly curious, watching the figure slightly before tightening his coat and heading towards the door. He smoothed back his blond hair with his unsteady hand and averted his eyes. Still, he walked by the man, hands plunged deep into his pockets. It felt slightly comforting to know that he, Draco Malfoy, wasn't the only one in the office building. The realization that he was not, in fact, alone was a bit reassuring. Besides, he remembered as he touched the plastic radio, Hermione was only just a phone call away. Maybe he was not lonely, maybe this was it- progress. In the making, at least.

A newfound warmness spread over Malfoy as he considered these circumstances. Maybe he'd reconsider murdering Gregory Goyle and instead treat him to a drink... or, at least, something that Goyle would approve of. And as he exited the room, he felt a rush of relief rush slightly over him. Then he headed towards the stairs, feeling a bit chilly in the outside weather. As he descended down the steps, he pulled back on his hat, once again hiding his face from possible sight. Nonetheless, he did not stop moving. The rush of positive energy floated about him unnaturally. And perhaps the unusualness of it all was what had initially prevented him from noticing the same solid figure step off the same steps slowly behind him.

He had not made it past even the third step when he felt a cold, veiny hand grip his shoulder by his neck. Gasping, Draco was too slow for the advances of the stranger. He stumbled back, feeling a cold hand slip over his mouth, pressing it together shut tight. Malfoy's hands felt to grab the figure away, but slipped uselessly. His legs slipped against the depth of the step, his knees colliding with the stone sloppily. And so the figure above him dragged him messily, ignoring the gagging noises that sounded out from below.

A swell of dizziness swooped over Draco, who had hit the ground with an all new feeling of nausea. Above him, the figure said not a word. It loomed over him, tall and slender and almost twitching. Malfoy's feet kicked out, his hands reached out desperately to grip onto a pillar, but clumsily he missed. Nonetheless, he was being dragged, pulled behind the tall therapist building, back behind the steep tower of safety until no longer he could see his sanctuary. The blood in his mouth was all too familiar and, dizzily, he saw the scenery before him darken lifelessly.

Lifted upwards, the two slender and strong hands hoisted him upwards, thrust him back against the brick wall, and backed away. Still hazy, Malfoy's hand instinctively flung to his coat, feeling for the long and skinny stick that was his wand. But a pale white hand slipped out of the dark figure's robes, revealing a young and oddly strong hand. He'd caught Malfoy before the blond boy had even a slight chance. Then, in a voice that sounded all too much like that of a madman's, the stranger mumbled silently, _"stupefy!"_

_

* * *

_

Slumped up against the brick building, Draco had only just begun to feel the prickle in his legs. The two stick-like things hung out lifelessly in front of him, twisted crookedly, almost unfamiliar. He attempted to lift his hand but, stiff and heavy, it wouldn't move. The wind rushing throughout his hair, made it limp around his face. A crust of dried spit was printed about his face. And he'd expected to be hexed at any moment, expected to feel a pain like no other riffle through his body sometime soon, yet nothing instant came. Instead, he spent the time lolling about in dizziness, the image of a bleak alleyway finally coming into a clear state in his vision.

For a split second, he thought himself to be alone, finally finding the strength to feel his throbbing head. He glanced around curiously, but he'd only been dragged several feet, just behind the building. His hand rest up on top of an overturned trash bin, his hat completely missing. And, on second glance, his scarf was, too. But he'd noticed it, then, the dark figure in the corner, his captor there just ahead of him. However, the shadow was not as daunting as he was previously. All of his haunting attributes had completely vanished. In fact, the figure was not even standing. Slumped in almost the exact same slouch as Malfoy, the shadow shivered as Draco's eyes locked in on him.

"I k-knew i-it was y-you," the figure muttered in a voice that Draco never had heard before in his life. "I k-knew it, knew it, knew it, knew it."

Malfoy dropped his head, exhaled tiredly and mumbled back, "what's going on?"

Flaky snow above the two of them fell lightly in the narrow alleyway and Malfoy could see his hat and scarf discarded in the corner nearest the shaking figure. Malfoy hesitated, but then wasted no time at all. Moving his heavy limbs, he grabbed towards the blank wall, pulled himself up like a newborn deer just using its legs for the first time. He grunted as he brought himself to a propper stance, readjusting himself back up against the building for a more proper support system.

Still, he wasn't quite sure if moving was, in fact, an intelligent move. Nonetheless, he steered for his hat, stepping towards it with slow, simple movements. "D-Don't!" screamed the horrified figure, thrusting out his hand. In the light of the roofless alleyway, the scratches on the figure's hand were blatantly obvious. The dark hood feel down from the man's face, showing to Draco a split lip and a severely black eye. "D-Don't!" the mangled thing shot back at him, his eyes both bloodshot and teary, "d-d-don't c-come any closer!"

A mess of shaggy brown hair fell around the boy's broken-in face. A large cluster of pick marks lined his face, plunged in a depressing pallor. Two deep and dark bags circled his ravishing eyes. And the man was shaking like a leaf, a paper bag in the midsts of a rather windy night. But it was more than obvious that his facial deformity was due to no one other than the man himself. However, he'd only sat curling within himself, cowering away from Malfoy, who stumbled forward, his hands up as if he'd been caught in some sort of criminal act. "Please," he coughed ruthlessly, tilting his head to get a better look at the disfigured scars along the stranger's face, "please, a-are you alright? I... I can help you if you-d only j-just..."

"No!" squealed the man, this time taking to action. He plunged his hand into his own robes and once again withdrew his wand. Shaking, he held it out before him like a weapon. "No, s-stay away f-f-from me!" Tears disgraced the man's horrorstruck face, pooling awfully down his redden cheeks. "I knew it," he said, with his wand out in front of him, "I knew it the moment I saw you... Draco Malfoy... I k-knew it. _STAY AWAY!" _Unsteady, the man watched Malfoy freeze, his chest rising up and down spastically as if he'd just run a mile. His eyes searched the floor for his own wand, which he spotted frantically at the end of the overturned garbage bins.

He said carefully, "please... I-I'm not going to-"

"A big fire!" The man cut him off, his eyes lost somewhere else. He looked as if he were staring at something unpleasant, a scene unseen to anyone else but himself. Still, his eyes boiled over with fresh tears and his mouth dripped loose blood of his own. His entire jaw drooled in a bright shade of blatant crimson; he'd surely bitten down hard on his fast-moving tongue. "The whole world up in flames." He was choking, gagging on his own words as he fell slightly forward, crawling on his palms, scraping against the brutal ground. Then he dragged himself upwards, limp and lifeless like a common rag doll. Swaying, he approached Malfoy with a wild look, ready to once and for all put himself out of his misery. "Chaos!" he yelped, pointing the wand directly at Malfoy's chest, "and all because of you!"

He said again at Malfoy's silence, "I should kill you right now."

Finally, Malfoy stumbled forward, lunging desperately for his own wand and stumbling over the second trash bin. He hit the ground for a second time, but managed to force the disfigured stranger to the ground along with him. The man hit the ground heavily, his head colliding with the concrete in a harsh collision. A river of blood dribbled from the crown of his head, but the man did not seem to notice. Instead, he scrambled back to his feet, just as unsteadily. But Malfoy's eyes were on his wand and his wand alone. Crawling towards it, he slipped slightly on the icy ground, just barely missing the wall behind him.

Gasping, he pulled for it, but the figure had caught him before he could make it. The stranger's own thin foot slammed down hard on Draco's wrist, pressing it to the floor with bitter aggression. He raised his own arm, ready to end Malfoy's pathetic life once and for all. He did not expect, however, Draco to press onward. Despite the numbness in his body, Malfoy reached towards the figure's ankle, grabbing it desperately and sending the man to the ground for a second time. His wand fell limply from his white fingertips, rolling down the back of the alley hastily. Draco scrambled upwards, his feet slipping against the wet ground unsteadily. Ten rotting fingernails scraped feverishly at his skin. But Malfoy's captor was too quick. He made for Mafoy's neck, wrapping his hands around it with instant aggression.

And Malfoy could feel the life fly out of him before his very eyes. He had been slammed back against the ground, his head once again at the ground in no time. Something cracked carelessly behind his head and he could no longer feel air in his lungs. He was being strangled and he could only just make out the sight of his wand, there just inches ahead of him. Slowly, his fingers crept to it. The sound of his own gagging echoed through the alleyway, came back to his ears without hesitation. But he was running out of time and he knew it. Finally, when he couldn't take any longer, he could feel his eyes roll back in his head. A bout of clamoring footsteps sounded out around the two of them, speeding up significantly.

The fingers around Malfoy's neck tightened, his soon-to-be-killer's eyes widening in horror. Still, he pressed his entire body forward, determined to end everything at last. However, a new shadow appeared at the end of the alleyway, tall and lean and heaving. "_Stupefy!" _the voice of Elaine Galer shouted with her wand aimed out forward. And the figure slackened above Malfoy, his fingers finally letting loose around Draco's thin neck. Then, as if dead, his body slumped forward, falling loosely upon Draco's. And with wide eyes, Malfoy watched the corpse-like figure, unable to move another muscle. Then, accomplishing exactly what the unconscious man had set out to do before, Draco's body gave up. His eyes rolled back just in time to see Elaine Galer rush forward and then, before another moment passed, he was plunged into complete blackness.

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**Vonne: **I still love to hear from you all, even if you've read this. It really motivates me and blah blah blah.


	4. Coming Up Easy

**Vonne:** I never actually realized, until now, what a short chapter this one is! I mean, compared to the four-thousand words I usually type per chapter, this really amounts to only half of that. (Literally, this chapter is two-thousand and twenty three words, and that's it). I was, however, thinking about combining the 'fourth' chapter within this one, however, thought better of it once I realized how much that would end up confusing me...

But, I have some good news, actually. Last time I promised that I would include a sort of 'sneak-peak' of chapter twenty in the last chapter update and, I'd forgotten. This chapter, however, WILL have the preview. It is at the bottom for those of you that remember/do not want to read this chapter over again. So, I'll get to your reviews and then you can scroll all over this chapter, or, just as likely, scroll all the way down. If you DON'T, however, want any spoilers, then don't read the bit at the bottom. It is a preview for the upcoming chapter twenty, which is where I left off after having accidentally deleted all the prior nineteen chapters of 'Basket Case'. Alright, I think that clears that much up, then. Good!

**Kitty Meadow: **I am so glad that you just got into Harry Potter and that you really loved it. In a time where all these people are -cough-stupidly-cough- picking up Twilight, I'm glad that you took the old school route and grabbed an HP book off the shelves. Good choice!

**Le Candeh: **Thanks again for all the returned attention you've given 'Basket Case'. It makes me so happy to see that people are coming back to it, even when they don't have to. I will try so hard to upload these chapters fast so I get back to the nineteenth chapter that I was at when this accidentally got deleted. Don't forget to thank M. again! 'Basket Case' is back from the dead!

**Doni: **You're probably right, HAH. But Draco's got so much pride in himself even still. Maybe if you existed in this story, you could have fixed Malfoy's problem before it even started. He's just a bit too much of a liar, isn't he? :) I think I added that trait in for him to make up for all the lying I used to- and still- do. Nothing serious, of course, but as a kid throwing cigarette butts over my shoulder or dropping eye drops in my eyes, I can kind of relate. HA! Maybe we all need our own little Doni at our side saying, "NO! Don't do that!" ;) Anyway, thank you for all the continued reviews.

**Psychic City: **Helloo! Thank you again, girlie. Send me a message through PM, would you? My inbox is just ROTTING without any mail and I'm growing tired of waiting for you. HAH... I'm totally kidding. Since I'M actually the one who hasn't sent YOU anything back, I strongly apologize. But thanks for the reviews to remind me! xo

**Cherie26: **Thank you for the reviews! I'm so happy that there are so many people (and unsigned reviewers, but whatever) still here to be supportive! I will try and update as soon as possible every time for all of you. I know this chapter took a little while, but its here now! And with a little preview for chapter twenty at the bottom. :)

**Carl: **Thank you so much! I'm so glad that you enjoy this! I enjoy hearing from you, signed in or not!

**

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**Chapter Three:**  
**Coming Up Easy**

Draco Malfoy leaned back, breathing in the stale air caused by the snow. So this was what it was like to have been targeted, then. At least, now he knew.

It was sometime in the middle of the afternoon and he should have been back at Goyle's by now, delivering to him the full report of his therapy session. Instead, he'd come to find himself up in entirely different circumstances. Laying up on the stone bench just outside the tall building, his head was in the lap of Elaine Galer, whose hands were in a fix with a long gauze around the width of his head. He could barely see it, the vision of a large crowd huddled in a short distance before him. Working hastily, a lot of ten uniformed Ministry men worked in a haste.

Above him, Galer tied off the white gauze and lifted up his numb hand, not noticing that he'd blinked himself to consciousness. Still, carefully, she checked the slow pulse on his wrist and let his arm flop back down lifelessly. Though all Draco was interested in was the sight, there moving fast around him. The men, they were hauling a sloppy lump up off of the floor, moving the rag-like thing from the ground and across the block. And then just barely he could make out who it was. The stranger, his notorious captor, being dragged from the pavement, his feet scraping against the solid ground. Still, he was mumbling something in a stroke of wet sobs, his shoulders bobbing up and down as the lolled him across the block. "The world up in flames!" he cried, sniffling from a nose that seemed almost endlessly runny, "the world in chaos! P-Please, it c-can end now!"

And a crowd was starting to form, huge and watching, they'd stared at the new prisoner and Draco, as well. Gaping, they said not a word, but remained clustered together in a cold group. The dark robes had been removed from around the hysterical man's shoulders and in the light his face was all the more distraught. The cut across the man's face was much deeper than Draco had originally suspected. His upper lip was almost split completely in two. The black and blue bruise around his blue eyes had drawn down the bulk of his reddened cheek, and his hair was plastered to his wet little face. Nonetheless, he didn't fight the two men that pulled him along, paying no attention to the prophecies he'd been spitting. Instead, they tore his wand from his delicate fingers and disregarded him completely. Just as he turned to face Draco, the man's expression shifted. He was no longer bitter in his misery, but absolutely horrified. He'd noticed the blond boy blink, allowed his face to drop unexpectedly. Finally, his sobbing intensified.

In the midst of all the current chaos around him, Draco's captor was crying like a child, his eyes wide and fearful, his fingers pointing accusingly. From his red lips, he sputtered a cocktail of spit and crimson blood. But it seemed like the madman was the only one that could sense Malfoy's consciousness, and by it he was even more frightened than before. Nonetheless, the hauled him along further, ignoring him all together. They dragged him disgracefully through the crowd, which parted astounded as he passed through. But, twisting, the madman was spinning around, swiveling angrily, pointing at Malfoy with his yellow fingernails.

Someone from the large crowd of onlookers whispered observantly, "That's Draco Malfoy, that is."

"_Malfoy_... Draco Malfoy?"

Perhaps. Somehow, in his haziness, Draco was a bit unsure about that question himself. And he would have continued guessing if it hadn't been for the new figure that emerged from the crowd. This one, however, was tall and bright white, and steady. In the distance from it, Draco could just make out the pale white fingers on the top of the man's walking stick. The pale shadow that was none other than Lucius Malfoy glanced around the scenery for only a moment before pushing himself completely through, the crowd around him muttering in new hysterics. "Where is he?" Lucius was yelling sternly, ceasing one of the officers by the shoulder, "where is my son?"

"He's fine, he's okay, Mr. Malfoy. But we cannot have you-" nonetheless, the man's instructions went unnoticed. Lucius stepped away from the officer, his head swirling around on his thick neck. But Malfoy was feeling more and more ill by the passing moment, and he could barely move a muscle to signify that he'd woken. He pressed his stinging eyes shut as a wave of nausea swept mercilessly throughout his body.

And still, Draco looked up, lifted his head meekly and watched the figure of his father advance towards him. He lifted his hand sloppily, pointed at himself with one finger. Nonetheless, he was doing an awful job at trying to pretend he was not out of his mind. He mumbled nothing in particular with a bloody accent and then his head unwillingly flopped back down upon Eliane Galer's lap. Heavy footsteps neared him desperately and his father's face contorted with the horrible realization that his son must have hit his head much harder than he'd originally expected. His quiveringly strong voice demanded, "what's happened to him?"

Elaine Galer's voice was perhaps a bit too soft. Sincerely, she said, "he's going to be fine. He's just knocked his head."

"And who is it that did this to him?" Lucius asked again in a tone that was all the more urgent. He cocked his pointed chin towards his son and stood fearfully, as if afraid to get himself too close. But Malfoy was lifting his hands towards his own head, trying to smooth the dizziness from his mind completely. He mumbled somethin incomprehensible and his father's face twisted. "He's delirious!"

"He's not... delirious," Galer informed him, her eyes shifting back to Draco and then up again. "And it was Leroy," she said, "Beevis. He's," for a moment she paused, as if picking her words wisely. Then, graciously, she settled on, "he's not well."

"Meaning?" The tone in Lucius' voice was undeniable. He turned around, tried to spot the hysterical madman, but Draco's attacker had been removed from the scene completely. "What do you mean he's... he's '_not well'?"_

Rooted against Galer's lap, Malfoy let his arms relax once again at his side. He sat himself up, still, leaned over her, and spit a massive amount of blood up on the sidewalk. Then conclusively, he drew himself back down, groaning uncomfortably to himself as he did so. "Leroy Beevis is a patient of mine," Eliane Galer continued, watching Malfoy slowly. She took to his head and drew the back of her palm across it, as if subconsciously checking for a possible fever. "He's been in and out of institutions even before the war, he's never had such an outburst."

Lucius' face reddened. "Never?" he hissed, "he almost murdered my son!"

Hesitant, Galer stopped, considered this, and then said timidly, "Beevis wasn't expected to have reacted so violently."

"Bullocks to your expectations!" Lucis counteracted, swiping his arm across the air feverishly. "I want him arrested, thrown in jail! What's a madman like that doing in... in... civilized society?"

"I can assure you," Eliane said quietly, "Mr. Beevis will not go without punishment."

"Punishment!" Lucius demanded, "he deserves to be kissed!"

"Mr. Malfoy," Ms. Galer blinked, releasing her hand from the top of Draco's sweaty head, "you know that we do not regularly practice the Dementor's kiss anymore."

But Lucius was still all the more infuriated. He stiffened, as if slightly embarrassed, and then asked sternly, "and what about my son?"

The woman shifted slightly, almost unaware of Draco completely. But Malfoy was feeling the creeping sensation of disillusionment advance upon his once again. And something grew rather heavy in his throat and, still, he was thinking about Hermione Granger for one reason or another. Just then, as he could feel yet another wash of illness wash over him unsteadily, he refused to permit himself to fall unconscious again. Wobbling, he gripped the edge of the bench, hazily pulled himself up to a seated position, and opened his eyes to the expression of his horrified father. The crowd behind him stepped slightly back. "That is!" someone cried, a bit too late, "that's him!"

Although Malfoy paid them not the slightest bit of attention. He slid forward, making for his discarded coat, and whisked the heavy thing off of the ground, dusting himself off properly. The way in which he cared for the presentation of himself, perhaps he was truly his father's son. Still, Elaine Galer extended her arms, grabbed Malfoy's waist steadily and tossed Lucius Malfoy a worried look. "He'll need some rest and... and... Mr. Malfoy, I d-don't t-think that _standing _is the best thing to do a-at the moment!"

"Nah, nah," Malfoy said, pulling each coat sleeve around his slender arms, "'m fine." Though perhaps she was right. Even as he insisted to standing, Draco could feel the same familiar haziness wash desperately over him. In a rush, he leaned forward, swaying anxiously. The bitter sensation of oncoming bile threatened his throat and, coughing, he managed to swallow it down. Besides, he was in fact a Malfoy. Despite his awful headache, he'd had impressions to make. With the crowd watching him spitefully, he still accomplished a stance, however faulty it was. And he thanked God that Hermione wasn't there to watch him make an utter fool out of himself. Still, he couldn't help the swing in his step and he could not deny the harsh beating in his temples. As if his entire body were ready to collapse at any given moment, he wondered exactly how hard he really did hit his head. Gagging slightly, Draco ran his quivering hand up to his head, said in a mused sort of manner, "I feel really bad."

"Rest, Mr. Malfoy," Galer responded, this time addressing Lucius, "he needs to get plenty of rest."

"And what?" Lucius asked, appalled, "a sedative?"

Just on time, Malfoy lost his balance slightly and made hold for his father's shoulder. But Lucius grabbed hold of his son, horrorstruck, his eyes wide and his fingers fastened tight. But Malfoy couldn't feel his legs, couldn't feel his arms, couldn't hardly feel anything but the throbbing temples in his head. His hands were still wrapped around the boy desperately. Nonetheless, he looked onward at his son with fearful confusion, watching Draco stumble aggressively before cling back on to his father's shoulders.

"I'd like it," Galer said, eyeing Draco soothingly, "if he would come back."

But Lucius' head snapped bitterly upwards, though he did not answer her. Instead, he stiffened, glancing over at the sidewalk with the intention to leave at any given moment. Though he seemed to notice the crowd, and watched Malfoy with an entirely new bit of worry. "I think," he said conclusively, drawing his son's coat up far around his shoulders to hide his face, "I'll be taking my son home now."

They then whisked themselves through the bundle of people and out into the dark night. But Beevis' screams were still loud and clear, despite having been taken away from the scene entirely. And before Draco had time to tell, Lucius had taken to his shoulders and pulled the coat higher around his son's neck. Thus, following his father's determined steps, both Draco and Lucius stalked along the street, through the observant crowd and conclusively out of sight.

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**Vonne: **Below is a preview for chapter twenty, which is being completed right now. If you do not want to spoil any of the future of this story for yourself, you don't have to read it!

_Chapter Twenty  
Extract_

_"Ron's hands gripped the back of Draco's neck, despite the chill that tainted it. He slipped momentarily, before regaining his composure on the man. Though Harry had discarded the toy radio, Ron's eyes were only focused on the twitching blond. He trembled, on his own for a moment, and his wide eyes watched the front door. Couldn't Hermione run any faster? Wherever she'd gone off to, it was definitely not the time for being stir crazy. He regretted not staying awake, regretted letting Draco Malfoy sleep in his house in the first place. And yet, that pestering feeling of pity twisted around his inner gut ruthlessly, and he couldn't deny it. Every desperate wheeze that emitted from Malfoy's dry throat truly did make his chest fall with his own selfless terror._

_"Where is she?" Ron croaked as Draco's eyes rolled back into his pale head and his face lolled responsively to the side. His torso had reduced to a freezing temperature and with each seizure-like twitch, Ron's grip seemed to tighten. Ron neared closer to Draco's paper-white face and couldn't even believe it himself when he pushed the boy's sweaty mop away from his greasy forehead. "S-Something's... wrong," he said again, hoarsely, "something's n-not right."_

_Harry's shoulders dropped. He stopped his pacing quickly. For a moment, his green eyes rest upon Malfoy and then, without warning, he dropped to his knees, taking up a significantly fast-paced crawl. His face, etched with curiosity, twisted with concern and inquiry as he made his way towards both Ron and Malfoy, his right hand outstretched. "Draco," he whispered in a strong and audible voice. The boy's eyes swiveled around and he glanced up at Harry, much to Ron's surprise, despite the obvious wetness he had to his face. Tears streamed down Malfoy's reddened cheeks and the front of his nose was red and outlandish. "Malfoy," Harry asked, far more familiar with Malfoy's situation than Ron had perhaps even knew, "c-can you hear me?"_

_"I don't want to die," Malfoy wheezed, his eyes whirling around in desperation. He seemed to have trouble staying away, and yet tried to hold on to his consciousness despite the difficulty. "P-Please," he begged, attempting to lift himself up before only just flopping back down into Ron's chest heavily, "p-p-please d-don't let me die!"_

_"You're not going to die, Malfoy!" Harry assured him, scooting Draco farther away from Ron. Yelping, Malfoy felt a harsh twinge as he was lifted away and set back down gently on the floor below him. His head whirled and his vision had begun to blur in a far more intoxicating way. Above him, both Harry and Ron were undefined. He could make out only the red hair and the slight shimmer behind Harry's tilted glasses. "Just... listen to me," Harry advised, glancing towards the front door once more. "Don't try to fight whatever you're trying to fight." He glanced back over towards Ron, biting his lip for a moment._

_The strangeness in witnessing Draco go through the same thing he, Harry, had gone through several years ago only made him slightly uncomfortable. Seeing the spasms, seeing the terror sketched on Malfoy's face and knowing that, at one point or another, Harry had worn the exact same expression, it sent a wave of chills down his hunched spine. Still, Harry pressed down farther, lowering his voice slightly. "Just give in to it."_


	5. Liar, Liar

**Vonne: **I have an outline planned out for the last chapters of this story, and I am going to continue to update this as fast as possible. I am so happy to continue receiving all these reviews. There's a majority of them that are unsigned, but that's okay. I like to know that there are even people not signed into FF that still check out this story. I know that I used to do that before I signed up for an account for myself, so... it's okay. Signed or unsigned, it doesn't really matter to me. What's reassuring is all this positive feedback that's even renewed. I know that it sucks to have to come back and reread all this over again sometimes, but please realize that I am only just trying to rebuild BC back up to what it was, and I immensely appreciate your help (especially M.'s for saving all these chapters).

**MCLanna: **Of course, more is still coming. :) It's okay, I realize that it can be super hard to wait for something. So I'm definitely trying my best to update this as soon as I possibly can. Hopefully this was soon enough, huh?

**LeCandeh: **Chapter four, you mean? HA, ok, here you go!

**Psychic City: **Perfect, thank you for letting me know with a review, you silly thing.

**Jenn K: **Aw thank you very much! I'm glad that YOU'RE glad, for sure.

**Doni: **Exactly. No one seems to much care for the Malfoys anymore, do they? I'm so glad that you loved the preview! I tried to pick from the already written parts that I thought would be the best to show without giving too, too much away. AH, you know, despite the snarky comments, I'm sure some people would still need a good advice giver at their side. Besides, what is life without smartass comments? I dunno, but I for one love some wit! :)

**Carl: **Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it! Oh, and I think Carl is a cute name for a girl, actually.

And a special THANK YOU to the other reviewers including **Jennifer, Kyvnn, **and **Kitty Meadow**! It is all immensely appreciated.

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**Chapter Four:**  
**Liar, Liar**

He was lying on his side, face down and buried into the cushion of his deflated pillow. Whatever had truly gone on in the previous hours were merely events, not to be thought about while sleeping. However, it did not keep his night from being a restless one. Eyes pressed tightly shut, Draco Malfoy was having yet another nightmare.

But in the world that did not consist of Draco's bitter dreams, a tall and slender figure moved through the large yard that extended beautifully through the Malfoy Manor. And the way in which the lovely figure moved would have perhaps been graceful if it did not move in such a hurry. Stumbling, the uneasy figure pushed its way past the marble statues and clamored sloppily up the white steps. Then, breathing, the shadow paused and pressed its back hard against the large pillars and shut her eyes. In the moonlight, Hermione Jean Granger smoothed her wild hair across her face, thick with immense pallor. She listened for any sight of motion in the house behind her, swallowed hard, and harshly gripped her toy radio. "Draco," she whispered hoarsely through the sound of the cold, snowing night, "Draco, are you there?"

She'd been trying him all night with rather unsuccessful results before she'd decided upon taking the more aggressive route in settling things. Nonetheless, what other choice did she have? Though the incident had only happened less than ten or so hours ago, she'd seen the scene in the streets that night, even read the early morning papers. Inhaling cold air, Hermione drew one last conclusive breath, decided the coast was clear, and darted through the back patio. There were no lights in the entire house and, as Hermione bolted through the backyard, her eyes adjusted to the heavy darkness. The only sound was the squeal of the Malfoy's white peacock and Hermione couldn't help but jump as she saw the wretched thing strut proudly past her. "Draco," she hissed bitterly into the radio, newly frustrated with her risky efforts, "where the hell are you?"

Wandering eyes led her up to the single window at the second floor and, even more exceedingly frustrated, she swore under her breath. The way to the window ledge was by tree, and the trunk was uneasy with instability. She raised a slender arm, gripping the first branch with with blatant uncertainty. Nonetheless, the view of the window above her was motivation enough, and the white curtains flowing out from it helped her miraculously yank herself upwards. wrapped her arms around the circumference of the tree trunk, looked down at the foot she'd advanced upon, and promised herself that she'd suggest to Draco that the family find it necessary to one day install a flight of stairs.

Though the haunting aspects of the morning's paper still floated around her mind. Still a bit fuzzy on the details, Hermione couldn't help but remember a particular part of the lengthy article. "_Spotted for only the second time since the end of the war five years ago, Lucius Malfoy's only son's outing was not the most pleasant. Witnesses can only confirm that Draco Malfoy was in and out of consciousness on the bench just outside of Eliane Galer's therapy office, a large building used also for treating the criminally insane and senile. Though speculation involves that of a violent attack on the twenty-two year old Malfoy, therapist Galer refused to comment."_ As widely known, Hermione was hardly the type of person to settle for such nonsense. In fact, such a claim was further clarified by Hermione's current position at the top of the questionable tree. She reached out, took hold of the vine on the side of the beautiful white house, and pressed off of the tree entirely.

There was something understandably unnerving as Hermione crawled her way up the side of the Manor, still half leaning against the nearby tree trunk. Her position a bit laughable, she could only remember the most recent time she'd been inside the awe inspiring home. Of course, then she'd been at the house unwillingly and her relationship with Draco Malfoy was a ways from what it was currently. Nonetheless, she couldn't help but wince slightly at the stingingly sore scar that ran slightly crooked underneath her thick coat, forever a reminder of her night with Bellatrix and the other Death Eaters. Still, while she tried nauseously not to think of the night, the image of Draco on that particular evening made her stomach twist. Maybe then was the time that Draco was beginning to morph away from his father's brutal ideals. She'd only wished she'd seen it then.

She shook the nasty thoughts from her mind, truly not needing any more terrible reminders at the moment. The newspaper was chilling enough, let alone her resurfacing memories. Although as she braced herself to reenter the house, she took one deep breath and arched forward, having finally reached the narrow windowsill. "Draco!" she called through the shut glass, pressing her reddened face against its surface. Through the misty window she could see not a thing. "Draco, open up!" A single response hit the tip of her bright red nose- one fluttering bit of snow. Begrudgingly, Hermione dug her hands down towards her pockets, fished out her wand, and pointed it at the lock on the bedroom window. _"Alohomora," _she whispered, leaning back slightly as the windows burst open instantly. And then loosely she shoved her frozen body through the window, lost her balance, and stumbled across the messily floor of Draco's bedroom.

It was almost literally impossible to see a thing in front of her. Frozen to the floorboards, Hermione waited for her eyesight to refocus itself. Along the walls were the old posters of Draco's school life; tiny Quiddich flags were colored green and silver in support of the Slytherin house. The drawers to his clothes dresser were left open and discarded ties were strung out along the drawer's edges. But her attention was on Malfoy and Malfoy alone. There he was, facing her on his side, curled up in a tightly knit ball. A trail of dried crimson blood leaked from the top of his split forehead and an excessively large and purple bruise encircled the width of his neck. Hermione's stomach dropped and yet, moving forward seemed utterly impossible. She remained weakly frozen, her hands unwound at her slumped sides.

Then she flung herself forwards, almost rather forcefully. Without regard to the possibility of waking Draco's parents, Hermione's knees slammed into the ground and she inched herself towards the side of Draco's mattress. At first, she said in a whisper, "oh no," but then extended her hands out only far enough to come within centimeters of Malfoy's face. But then the little moan from his throat made her jump back, instantly mortified. Nonetheless, she hurriedly regained herself, crawling towards the mattress with newfound courage.

She ran a hand through his hair, smoothing back the blond fluff to get a better look at the wound at his bloody hairline. Shaking her head, she lowered her fingers, trailing down the side of his face until she reached his pointed chin. Though her peacefully intentions were soon cut off. Malfoy's eyes burst open rabidly. Gasping, he threw himself backwards, arms clamoring around in search of his wand. And the fast motion of his action had sent Hermione flailing backwards, as well, scurrying away from him like a frightened crab. She tried to hold back a scream and stumbled anxiously over his discarded clothing, colliding with what was thankfully the cushion of a small seat opposite her.

But Malfoy found his wand quicker than Hermione could manage to locate hers; the lip of it lit up like a firefly and he shoved it instinctively in Hermione's sweaty face. For a moment, Hermione sat there on the floor dumbstruck, her hair in a wild bush about the top of her head. Her chest heaving up and down spastically, she felt her knees quiver as they supposed her weakly. At once Malfoy's face fell, but he did not lower his hand. She'd obviously caught him rather off guard. His heaving matched her and as he stood there frozen, only his shoulders sunk lower. "Hermione?" he asked after a long while of saying not a single word. Then, looking perhaps even doubly distraught, he said in a hoarse voice, "I could have killed you!"

Still not quite calm, Hermione only swallowed, her words caught in her throat. But Malfoy took to lowering his wand and he extended a hand out to her, helping her regain herself into a more proper stance. Once he'd helped her to her feet, he started away from her, his hands pressing onto his temples and, shakily, he set away his wand. "Well," he said with an unconvincing laugh, "at least you're not some figment of my imagination."

Hermione retracted, finding only the ability to say, "that's not funny."

Draco turned slightly, applying his weight to only one side. However, he only stared at her for a moment before even deciding to speak in the first place. Instead, he breathed out, looked carefully towards the bedroom door, and lowered his voice. "What are you doing here?" he asked in a whisper, "my parents are asleep!"

"And how was _I _supposed to sleep, Draco?" Hermione retracted, remaining still, "I read the paper this morning-"

Malfoy's eyes widened. "It's in the paper?"

"Of course it's in the paper, Draco!" Hermione snapped, but instantly she seemed to have regretted her choice to raise her voice. Instead, she ran a hand over her front, sighing to herself. "I'm sorry," she said apologizing. "I was worried. I just thought I'd... y-you w-weren't picking up the radio."

Draco's eyes fell to his bed. "I was sleeping," he said simply, his voice tired with immense conviction.

Hermione's mouth shut. In her own anxiety she'd never thought of such a possibility; and she was supposed to be the smartest witch of her age. Sighing, Hermione fiddling with her fingers. She looked down, a bit embarrassed, and said in a meek tone, "sorry."

Nodding, Malfoy couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for her himself. Still, he didn't say anything; he was far too tired. Instead, he practically slumped back onto his mattress, sitting at the edge of his with his head in his hands. But he couldn't stop staring at Hermione. She was fretting perhaps far too much than she should have been and even Draco's serene expression couldn't calm her down. Nonetheless, he tried to smile, cocked his head towards the right side of himself, and waited for her to join him. Hermione did not move a single muscle. "I don't think I can move," Hermione said seriously, as if she might fall unconscious at any given moment. Malfoy stifled a giggle. "I'm serious!" Hermione said harshly, "h-how can you even be laughing right now? D-Do you have no idea what's just happened to you? Y-you were almost killed!"

Malfoy leaned back, using his palms as his only support. "I've gotten used to such chances," he said casually, still more or less teasing her.

"Stop it," Hermione replied, looking morose. She took to fixing her messy hair, pulling it anxiously behind her ears and folding her arms across her chest. But Malfoy's smile remained present. He nodded, only pretending to be more serious, and glanced down at the open spot next to him, hinting for her to sit down. Then, checking to see if she'd gotten this gesture, he looked back up at her, rather innocently. "Tosser," Hermione breathed, rolling her eyes and slinking sloppily back towards him. She exhaled on the mattress, staring at the black wall ahead of her, still absolutely red in the face. But Malfoy couldn't stop looking at her. His chin in his hands, he watched her curiously before glancing over at the wall, trying to see what it was off in the distance that had captured her attention so completely. "Who was it?" she asked finally, once she was feeling well enough to speak up again.

Grimacing, Malfoy did not really want to talk about the subject any longer. However, he knew that Hermione was not going to let the focus of his well-being drop; it was what she'd come all the way over to his home for. Defeated, he leaned forward, picking at the knee of his pajama trousers. "Beevis," he said, "Leroy _Beevis_, or so they say."

"Beevis?" Hermione asked, instantly interested. She turned to him, her face contorted with complete confusion. "Leroy Beevis? Who is that?"

"I don't know," Malfoy shrugged.

And then Hermione's face twisted even more so. "So what would he want to do with you?" she asked, almost angry. But Malfoy only could echo his previous statement. He didn't know. Once again, Hermione's face turned a bright shade of crimson. "Well what have they done with him?"

"I wasn't able to tell," Malfoy said honestly, now looking at the blank wall. He seemed to have found the infinitely impossible space in it that Hermione had been so focused on beforehand. "I wasn't exactly _there_ completely..."

"I hope they prosecute him," Hermione stated forcefully. "He can get years in Azkaban for that! T-that's a... a murder attempt! He could have killed you and he'll-"

But Draco turned away from the wall, listening to her ramble. He leaned forward, touched her knee, and said calmly, "Hermione, I'm fine. Let the Ministry take care of it, hm?"

Hermione sat still, her mouth caught open in the middle of her sentence. She flushed, looking only slightly angry, and then swallowed. "You," she said pointing a finger accusingly at his chest, "are going to be the death of me." She did not smile, for in her heart she knew that it was a huge possibility. But why wasn't it, then, that she did not leave? If she'd not cared, she have been out of there in an instant. However, it was one Draco Malfoy keeping her rooted. And, despite the risks, she was more than determined to stay put alongside with him. Of course, her attachment to Draco did not lift her current grievances towards him. "I'm not joking," she said again, informing him of the same statement she had only moments ago. "Stop," forcefully she pulled her knee away. Although she took to sighing next and instantly flopped backwards on the mattress with a groan.

Malfoy turned slightly, gazing down at her with an entirely more sincere smile. Then he lowered himself slightly, first only letting his elbows touch the mattress. He pressed his front torso on the mattress and turned on his side, watching Hermione like some sort of brilliant sunset. Responsively, Hermione opened one eye, noticed him watching her, and rolled them. "You scared me tonight," she said bitterly, "the least you could have done was called me afterwards."

"Next time I almost get killed I promise to do exactly that, Granger," Draco said boyishly, still trying to cover his amusement. It wasn't as if he'd found the situation particularly amusing, though he was rather enjoying the fact that Hermione had come over in the first place. There was a slight rush of having to hide her from her parents, who'd been asleep down the hall. And his success in doing so was rather thrilling. Despite the awful pain in his side and the pestering migraine-type headache he'd been suffering, he couldn't help but be a bit joyful.

Hermione reached up towards Malfoy's shoulder and pushed him backwards forcefully. She was beautiful, even as she said all the more seriously, "fuck off!"

A quiet couple of moments lingered on between the two of them, now both face up on the surface of Malfoy's small mattress. Hermione's eyes wandered piercingly at the top of the ceiling. However, the moments only seemed to heal Hermione's anxiety. She sighed, rubbing the front of her face, and relaxed her chest. Much more delicately, she scanned the dark room, her eyes having adjusted to the mess that Draco called a bedroom. "You're okay, right?" she said, shakily, as if on the verge of tears.

Malfoy nodded, feeling a stinging in the side of his ribs. Disguising his discomfort, he said, "I'm okay."

Voice breaking, Hermione asked again, "do you promise?"

"Really," Malfoy said, turning to her again. The action had caused him much more pain than he'd previously anticipated. Leroy Beevis, whom ever he was, had done quite a number on him.

Hermione's hands flew to her face and she wiped it clean of any tears. Sniffing, she yanked herself up from the mattress, distressed, and readjusted her coat. Blinking, Malfoy remained dumbfounded on the mattress. Perhaps he should have told her the truth; he'd had a strong feeling that she'd known he was lying. Still, he didn't take back his answer and allowed her to fix herself before pulling himself upwards as well. "W-Where are you going?" he asked, watching her make for her wand, which she'd left at the end of the room from where it had fallen.

Her voice was still choppy and a bit croaky, but she said, "I'm going home now." There was not a hint of bitterness in her tone, though she sounded almost immensely sad. Gripping her wand, she shoved it back into her coat pocket and started back for the window.

"You're leaving?"

"Yes, Malfoy," Hermione said, turning back to him. She'd stopped at the window sill, looking a bit fearful, "I'm leaving. I-I came to s-see if you were alright and I've done that. And you're fine so... I'm going to go home and get some sleep now."

A painstakingly harsh feeling of guilt pierced Malfoy's gut. Of course she'd have caught on to him- lately, he'd not been so convincing with his lies. But he shouldn't have lied to her in the first place. Hermione was, as already noted, far too clever for such nonsense. Well, he couldn't take it back now. Nonetheless, he watched her try to convince herself otherwise. Still, she finally managed to lean forwards towards the window and without any effort, she pulled it open, staring out into the snowy backyard once again. In just his pajamas even Draco, who was farther away from the window, was freezing. The sky was black and starless, perhaps somewhere between the hours of two or three in the morning. "You don't have to leave," Malfoy said tenderly, feeling almost awful. "You can stay and sleep in my bed. I don't mind... I'll have the floor."

Hermione's eyes glanced around the room. Not only was she unhappy with Draco, but there was something else making her quite anxious on leaving the building. "I need to go home tonight," she said, still hurt knowing that he'd blatantly lied to her. She desire any censorship from him in the first place. "Besides," she added solemnly with a chill that traveled up her long spine, "I can't sleep in this house."

Draco pulled himself up from the bed and almost meekly walked towards her. He'd known that she'd seen through him, but the two both stood rather silent about it. It was almost as if it were a subject too obvious to bring up. "Let me walk you home then," he said, picking up one of his coats from the floor. But Hermione shook her head. Instead, she'd started out the window already, having rather gotten a grip of the techniques the first time. Dumbstruck, Malfoy's arms dropped. He watched her from a distance and then advanced towards the door carefully. "Where are you going to be tomorrow?" he asked from above her, hoping that the suggestion of spending an evening together would lighten her mood.

"At the library. A _public_ library." A public library; if Malfoy were not so embarrassed he would have admired her for choosing such a adequate insult to hit him with. Public places of any kind were, of course, no where Draco Malfoy was going to be seen any time soon. Malfoy flushed, noting the harshness in her tone. Still, he knew that her attitude had only been his fault.

He swallowed, choosing to ignore her insult. "Okay," he said as she lowered herself down the trunk of the large tree just outside his window, "well, goodnight."

"Night," Hermione said and then descended down the remainder of the tree, finally disappearing into the back of the yard, where she walked across the emerald grass and was consumed by the darkness.


	6. Flash Delirium

**Vonne: **Thank you for all the super fast reviews. If you all can keep them coming, then we will definitely be up to speed at no time. However, I am leaving next week for a vacation and I might be on a small bit of a break for five days before the next update. However, I will try and upload as many chapters and I can before I do leave. So, once this chapter is up, that means that there are thirteen more to go. That's still a whoooollleeee bunch, but I know we can do it!

**AnnonOM: **No username, no problem. I'm just glad that you took the time to review anyways, it's very much appreciated. And I'm so glad that you've been following this from the beginning. I get a lot of alerts/favorites, but it's nice when I hear feedback. It just really motivates me, you know?

**Kitty Meadow: **Thank you! I'm so glad that you enjoy reading this as much as I do writing it.

**Carl: **Hmmm... I might be. ;)

**McLanna: **Thank you for the long review- HAH. I read all these reviews and I actually do like hearing the long ones, too. I'm so flattered by your compliments and I'm super glad that people enjoy the stuff that I write. It's nice to get some positive feedback for doing the things that I enjoy doing, definitely. Hah, I know I've said this before someplace... so sorry if this is all just blah blah blah blah blah. I don't mean to be repetitive, but sometimes I can't help it, I swear.

**PsychicCity: **_"I used to live, live, in a psychic city..." _There. That's all you get.

**LeCandeh: **Thank you very much! I just love reading reviews from you!

**WeatherWatch: **Oh haii! :) Long time since I've heard from you! It's nice coming back and talking to all these familiar people again! And I'm so glad that you're happy to see that 'Basket Case', like a zombie, has risen back up from the dead again. It was actually not my doing that brought it back, though. Because I'm an idiot, I accidentally deleted all nineteen chapters of 'Basket Case' and M. R. girl had all the chapters saved on her computer for me!

**Cherie26: **Oh good! I'm glad you CAN tell that it's progressing from the point I'm at now. It's even weird for me to go back and reread all the stuff I wrote. I'm actually surprised that I'm still happy with it. I mean, aside from the scattered grammar mistakes and spelling mistakes. But I'm not anal enough to go back and fix those. I don't even proofread this and I have no spell check. HA! So I think that shows just how hurried I am to update! :)

**Doni: **Yeah, definitely. Hermione's always got a bit of a spunky personality to her, huh? Well, at least after the second or so book... then she got it! And I think you're right... but when DOESN'T Draco need a hug? :) You can give him one. I think it might help him a bit!

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**Chapter Five:**  
**Flash Delirium**

It was the second time Draco had been woken up since he'd fallen asleep, but this time it was not by a beautiful woman.

Two chubby hands neared Malfoy's pale face and then extended out before lightly slapping him across the cheek. With a little jolt, Draco opened one eye and peered up at the large outline of Gregory Goyle. Groaning, Draco flopped to his other side, made haste towards the covers, and brutally yanked the white sheets back over his blond head. There was a slight squeak as Goyle shifted begrudgingly on the mattress. From outside the covers, Goyle said suddenly, "I heard what happened to you... I came to see how you were doing."

Malfoy moaned, burying his face into the pillows near his head. He arched his back, bringing his shoulders up closer to his ears. "Can I not get a full night's sleep?" he complained groggily, feeling sorry for himself. And it wasn't that he didn't appreciate Hermione's visit only several hours ago but Goyle, that was a different story. Even as the heavy boy sat lifelessly on his bed, Draco felt a rush of slight annoyance.

"Well," Goyle huffed, "excuse me for worrying!" He rolled his eyes to one side and scanned the messy bedroom that Draco resided in.

"My father let you in here? Why were you allowed in the house?"

Sighing, Goyle reached for the covers, but pulled away with nothing; Draco had the sheets tightly gripped in his fingers. Then, bitterly, he leaned back. "This isn't a hospital, you don't have visiting hours. Now," he continued, once again leaning forward, "let me see your face." Finally, Goyle managed to pull the sheets from Draco's grip, sending the limp covers to the end of the bed consequently. Draco, however, did not move a muscle. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his head, buried his face even lower than before, and pressed his eyes tightly shut. "Draco," Goyle said angrily, "you almost _died!_ And I had to hear about this through the paper! Your mother's been up here for hours and your father's downstairs calling the Ministry. You can't go around trying to hide it from everyone else while we're all trying to help you! Now, turn around."

Malfoy mumbled to himself. First Hermione, now Goyle. Why was it that he could do everything wrong without even trying? So, responsively, he sloppily picked himself up. His arms were weak and sore and as he pulled himself into a wobbly seated position, he brought his knees together under the covers. He didn't look up at Goyle, but instead down at the covers as a flood of uneasiness washed over him. But perhaps Goyle had been telling him the truth after all; the empty chair at the foot of his bed signified that his mother had been sitting there for quite some time. Goyle, on the other hand, was paying more attention to Draco's face rather than the chair in the room. His mouth dropped open a little and he leaned forward, squinting as if he weren't quite sure what it was he was seeing in the first place.

Looking up, Draco noted the look on Goyle's twisted face and his own expression dropped. "Oh, come off it!" Draco hissed, finally throwing himself from his bed and stumbling towards his clothing dresser. It had hurt him much more to walk than he'd anticipated, but he didn't let on. But Goyle remained perched on the bed, watching Malfoy carefully, his face having drained of any previous color he'd possessed before. However, once Draco had reached the mirror, his own personal delirium vanished. The wounds on his face were, in fact, far worse than he'd imagined. As he gulped nauseously, the dark purple bruises on his neck rose and fell achingly.

"You know what?" Goyle said, his voice sore with what was perhaps sorrow, "y-you're right. A-Absolutely right. You should get some rest."

Shakily, Draco touched the spot just near his hairline. Why hadn't he noticed this before? Was it too dark for both him and Hermione to notice? Throat running dry, it was as if Draco had just realized the severity of the night's event. However, the large wound at his head had been healed over, scabbed completely shut. He hadn't remembered seeing such a deep wound show signs of healing, hadn't remembered anything since Hermione had left his room in an angry hurry just hours ago. "S-Scabs?" he said, feeling sweepingly uneasy. "How?"

But Goyle could answer that. He gripped his head, rubbed his own temples nervously. "Your father," he said, looking back up at Draco. His expression was morose, rather put off by merely the sight of his friend. "He didn't want to take you to St. Mungos... did the majority of that himself."

"And how do you know this?" Draco asked Goyle, but his eyes were locked only with his miserable reflection.

"Your father let me in, remember?" Goyle mumbled, shifting uneasily. It seemed that he had more than regretted forcing Draco to bring himself out from underneath the covers. Nonetheless, he continued in a hoarse tone of voice, "besides, the stairs in this house are massive. We'd had enough time to cover the basics on just our way up here." Then, at the sight of Draco's swollen neck, Goyle said enthusiastically, "now get back in bed, _please_. You're making _me_ nervous."

Draco's eyes blatantly narrowed. "Oh, how awful for you!" he mimicked sarcastically, pressing his face closer to his reflection.

Goyle retracted. He furrowed his brow and drew the back of his palm across his clammy forehead. He couldn't think of anything witty enough to say back, quite frankly couldn't think of anything to say at all. With Draco looking so awful, the only think that circulated in his thoughts was the vision of the boy's distinct bruises. He grew sick even just watching Malfoy analyze himself in the glass of the mirror and finally, when he wasn't sure he could take anymore, he whisked himself up from the bed and pointed back down to it with strict conviction. "I'm not joking around with you, Malfoy," Goyle spat, his face red, "I can't even stand looking at you... and I saw you after the war!"

Though Malfoy didn't falter. He ran his hand through his hair and despite looking as if he could pass out, he said drowsily, "I'm going out."

Mouth dropping, Goyle watched Malfoy swing open the dresser drawer and pull out a long olive green scarf. Then, he started for his newsboy hat. Once he'd pulled the scraggly thing over his bed-head blond mop, he bent over ruthlessly to start with his socks. "Y-You c-can't be serious... Draco? Oy! You're completely mental!" Goyle screeched, watching Malfoy dress for the cold weather in awe, "c-completely mad!" But Draco wasn't paying Goyle much attention; he'd finished with his socks and shoved his feet into a pair of boots. Then, aggressively, he wriggled his fingers into two small gloves and made his way towards the door silently.

He ignored Goyle's stammering as he limped out of the bedroom, walking as fast as possible down the lengthy hall. With an uneasy hand, he gripped the stair railing and tried not to listen to the loud footsteps of Goyle behind him. The thick and wide boy was completely befuddled. With his eyes wide, he objected wildly as he redressed himself, obviously planning to follow. But there was nothing that Goyle could do. What did he expect? Surely, he was not under the impression that Draco would stay put in his room the entire night. Besides, he was almost used to the idea of facing death; perhaps he'd even come to accept such an idea. They'd all die sometime, anyway. Death was a part of life and Draco had simply come to the conclusion that his time to go was more than likely just around the corner.

And what did that mean, then? The act of coming to terms with the idea of dying surely wasn't the most healthy thing to grow comfortable with. But Draco was not healthy, so perhaps his lack of grief wasn't just an excuse. Goyle lunged forwards, far more fast that Draco in his limping. His meaty fingers grabbed for Malfoy's shoulder and he spun him around restlessly, a horrified look plastered on his massive face. "Draco, think! Think for once in five years! What are you _doing?_"

Malfoy's face sunk. He looked down at Goyle's hand on his shoulder and then glanced back up at Goyle, an eyebrow lifted. For a moment he looked as unconvinced in Goyle's aggressive exterior as ever. Then, recoiling, he lifted a finger and simply plucked Goyle's hand off of him in an instant. "I'm going to try and find Hermione," he replied calmly, once he'd gotten used to the expression on Goyle's face; the boy still had not gotten used to the fact that Draco and Hermione were visiting one another. A slight shock of electricity ran through Draco's body and he wondered what Goyle would think if he'd find out that he'd quite fancied the girl, too.

"You can't go any try to find... _Hermione_. Dammit, Draco, you've almost been killed!" With his shoulders in the air, Goyle huffed. He looked almost positively mad himself. "I'm not going to let you walk out that door."

Still, Draco couldn't help but feel the urge to laugh. Nonetheless, he stifled the utterly rude urge and rolled his eyes. With his head tossed to the side, he breathed out unsteadily, carefully eying the front door. "We've gone through this before, Goyle," Malfoy said slowly. "Besides, you wouldn't hit a cripple."

Goyle shifted his weight to his left. "You're not a cripple," he said back, hesitatingly.

"Alright," Malfoy said, ending Goyle's attempt at procrastinating small talk, "move."

With that, Draco waltzed past Goyle and returned to his limping. Sniffling, he shoved his hand outwards, approaching the large front doors with new aggression. He continued to ignore Goyle, who stammered uselessly behind him. However, just as Malfoy's hand touched the door knob Goyle's squandering stopped instantly. "Uh... er... D-Draco?" he quipped, tripping over his own rapid tongue. "D-Draco... I..."

Malfoy's back arched. Red in the face, Draco could just about strangle Gregory Goyle. Thus, he got ready to do just as planned. He spun around and put on his most horrifying face, however, the expression melted upon turning around. Just directly behind Goyle was the tall and lingering shadow of Lucius Malfoy. The superior high that Draco Malfoy felt before had instantly vanished. He'd felt more like a small spec, rather. Responsively, he averted his eyes, feeling his face heat up with embarrassment. Despite Goyle stammering stupidly behind Lucius, Malfoy managed to at least try to spit out an excuse, despite it being a rather pathetic one. "I was... I was j-just going t-to get... to try a-and-"

Lucius Malfoy rose his eyebrow, gripped the top of his walking stick and frowned. He'd looked aged, as if the previous night had done a piece of work on his face. Every wrinkle seemed prominent, every line deepened. So, hurriedly, Draco tried to wrap it up. "... Was going to try and get some fresh air," he concluded, looking completely guilty. Of course, he'd been caught in the act and he'd known it. But silently he cursed himself; he should have at least checked to see if his parents were still home before trying to go anyplace.

"Eliane Galler thinks otherwise, unfortunately, Draco," Lucius said and there was no bitterness in his voice. Instead, he sounded more as if he were reading off a set list of instructions. "She told me that you need your rest."

From behind the tall lingering man, Gregory Goyle added, "I must agree with that bit of advise." Much to Draco's fury, Goyle tossed him a victorious look from behind Lucius' back.

Lucius did not catch on to Goyle's banter. Instead, he took the agreement quite fondly, considering it helpful that Draco's own friend was siding with him. Nonetheless, he stood there stiffly, waiting for his son to respond. Draco, on the other hand, was at a significant loss for words. He fiddled stupidly with his scarf and slumped slightly. He mumbled out loud, "... just needed some air." Still, he fought the urge to waltz outside and ignore his father's wishes; he was twenty-two years old. Not even his father should be telling him whether or not he was permitted to leave the house. And then why was it that he didn't do so? He couldn't have lost that much of his backbone in the five years since the war. That was, of course, only possible if he'd ever had one when it came to his father.

Considering this, Lucius' face dropped. He suggested merely, "well, I'll open a window for you," as if the suggestion were a brilliant one. Though Draco could sense that his father was not trying to upset him. In fact, a spark behind Lucius' eyes signified that he was actually trying to make Draco comfortable.

"Brilliant idea, sir!" Goyle chimed boyishly.

Lucius Malfoy did not even turn around. He glanced only over his shoulder with his eyes and said flatly, "Goyle, go home."

"Yes, sir," Gregory Goyle quipped, starting from his spot behind the man in an instant. Freely, he rushed past Draco and lunged for the door with open fingers. He watched the marble floor on his way out and Draco was sure that he did so in order not to catch a glance at his face for the second time. Finally, when the heavier of the men had exited, Lucius seemed to smile. Though the expression did not last too long, he once again readjusted his posture and glanced back up to the stairs, silently hinting.

"I think it's best if you get some rest, Draco. I'm going to have a word with the Ministry," he said finally, when a bit of silence had passed between the two of them. "Can I count on you not to leave the house?"

Malfoy considered this, considered the hopeful look behind his father's cold eyes and thought, perhaps he'd just come out with the truth. It was almost bluntly obvious that the moment Lucius Malfoy walked out the front door, Draco would be climbing out through the back window. But his father did not know that. In fact, it seemed to be that Lucius was under the impression that his son actually cared about his own personal well-being. And, though in truth Draco Malfoy was over such minor worries, he almost physically seemed oblivious. So, because Draco was a Malfoy and had learned from a young age to take advantage of such situations, he said as expected, "yes. I won't leave." And, in order to demonstrate his false commitment, he shed his coat and kicked off his boots.

Pleased, Lucius extended a hand, placed it on his son's shoulder and smiled. Though the gesture only lasted a split second, Draco blinked curiously as his father brushed by him and opened the door. "We'll be back later tonight, Draco. Narcissa!" he called leaning back up towards the stairs. There was a slightly fast paced clutter of footsteps and then the beautiful blonde Narcissa Malfoy emerged from the top of the steps. Her face was pale, but she'd managed to put herself together, despite the fact that it appeared as if she'd been crying throughout the night. "Narcissa," Lucius said, watching his wife take her time down the stairs, "we've got an appointment in half an hour."

But Narcissa Malfoy had locked eyes on her only son and reached out to kiss his head. "Your father is going to take care of this, Draco," she said lovingly, her glossy eyes once again washing over with unspilt tears.

"Okay, mum," Draco said, swallowing hard. But he could only feel guilty for the worry of his parents. For all they'd known he could have been asking for it. Besides, according to the boy who'd attacked him, it was a long time coming. The words of Leroy Beevis floated around in his head saying, "_I should kill you right now."_

With one last sympathetic look, Narcissa stepped past her son, watching her husband worriedly. They nodded their goodbyes and shut the door on Malfoy, who watched the view of them disappear away from the Manor entirely. He stood for a moment in the middle of the entrance way, breathing slowly. The guilt that he'd felt before had turned to ambition. To think he'd accept sitting around his house in a beaten wreck was an absolute mistake. Besides, lying had almost come as a second nature to him now. And it wasn't as if he'd had much of a choice. So, consequently, he bent down and picked up his boots and scarf, repositioning them back around his neck and on his feet. He grabbed an apple on the way out, feeling a new sense of excitement. Though the moment he'd bitten into it and felt the sore pain in the depths of his jaw, he reeled back and his confidence faltered.

His parents had vanished from sight at the front of the house and finally Malfoy took to the back, bracing himself for the chilly weather. As the white snow forced himself into his face, he staggered out through the yard, attempting at rebuilding his confidence. Sure he'd had a black eye, a sore jaw, and a large scar on the top of his forehead, but what else was expected? Of course, such a state was only normal. And so was the annoying little limp in his step- that, too, was just usual. That and the fuzzy feeling in his head, the swift rush of having been spinning for hours on end.

A flash of nausea overcame him. He stumbled anxiously on his own feet and blinked at the newly hazy view ahead of him. Surely Leroy Beevis, whomever he was, hadn't done that much damage to him. Of course, there was always the persistent possibility that it was Draco's own faulty head that was causing him such trauma. But that was beyond that point; the point was that he could feel himself slipping and, anxiously, he reached out towards the edge of the frozen over fountain and grabbed the ledges. His spare hand flung under his stomach and, wincing, he doubled over to catch his breath. He'd only walked five feet and he'd felt as if he'd run an entire mile.

Perhaps and outing was exactly the opposite of what Draco Malfoy needed.

"Draco?" came a voice off in the distance, quiet at first but that significantly louder. "Draco? Oy!"

Blinking, Malfoy could see the figure of a beautiful curvy woman form in front of him. Her short cropped hair sat just below her pointed chin. She wore a low cut shirt to show off her lovely chest, despite it being immensely freezing out. Pansy Parkinson's face was twisted out before him as she bent lower and pressed her visage into Draco's. "Draco are... are you alright?"

Malfoy coughed. He should have been asking her what the hell she'd been doing in his backyard, but all he could manage to spit out was, "I'm going to go back inside now." However, Pansy took his comment as a need for further assistance. She took hold of Malfoy's hand on the fountain and wrapped it foolishly around her shoulder, ignoring Malfoy as he attempted to protest.

"Dammit," she said as he jerked away slightly pushing her, "you're delusional." She helped Malfoy stagger back to the house, her unnecessarily large heels clomping against the icy patio. As they pulled themselves back through the back door, Malfoy found enough strength to stumble away from Pansy and pitch himself up against the wall behind him. "What did you think you were doing?" Pansy asked harshly, her eyes locked on Malfoy.

Draco panted. He looked back up at Pansy, ignoring her first question. Instead, he whipped his clammy forehead with the back of his palm and looked her up and down. "What are you doing in my backyard?" Admittedly bitter for being unsuccessful in escaping the Manor, Draco could not help but be a bit overly stern with the girl.

Pansy drew back, dusted herself off of any snow, and bit her bottom lip. Then she said slowly, "well, Draco, I heard what happened to you the other night. I... saw the crowd outside that loony people's office building." Malfoy's eyes narrowed. Ever the wonder, Pansy sure knew how to choose her words wisely. "Some bloke from the Ministry asked me out this morning. We had breakfast and he mentioned you. Mentioned the incident." Draco huffed. Some 'bloke from the Ministry'? He quickly wondered where Pansy turned up with all these other men and slumped to the ground with a whole new gust of pain. Pansy's face flickered. Her hard gaze softened and he bent down low, saying, "do you want some water?"

"So you stand around in my backyard?" Malfoy asked her again, for the second time cutting her off. He truly hadn't meant to be rude, but Pansy's appearance had certainly put a damper on his previously elated mood.

Pansy's face twisted. She did not look hurt, but rather furious that Draco would blow her off so easily. Crossing her arms across her chest, Pansy frowned harshly, slight wrinkles appearing across ehr otherwise untainted forehead. "I wasn't _'standing around'_, Draco. I was coming to see you. To see if you were okay. What's so strange about that?" Malfoy sighed, feeling a bit guilty. Swallowing, he nodded and glanced down at his boot-covered feet. Then, defeated, he kicked off his shoes and watched them fall over on the ground in front of him. "Ever since you broke off our engagement," Pansy started again, making Draco instant uncomfortable, "I've been thinking about things and... and I think seeing people is a good thing." Then she laughed, tossing back her pretty little head, "I'd even thought about taking Goyle up on his million date offers."

Malfoy felt a sting of hatred towards her and he considered asking her to leave. Still, there wasn't much he could say in defense of Goyle. He didn't really see what Goyle saw in Pansy, anyways. However, Pansy continued, "I actually saw him a the other day... asked him how you were doing."

"Oh?" Malfoy said back at her, his head against the wall, "and what news did he deliver?"

"He said you had a friend. A 'special' friend." Pansy said instantly, her eyes scanning Malfoy to see if he'd any reaction. Malfoy blinked; Goyle had known that he'd been talking to Hermione, but surely he'd had no idea that the two of them were seeing each other... if it was official, anyways. A slight ping of curiosity struck Draco as he considered the fact that perhaps he'd underestimated Gregory Goyle's intelligence. Perhaps he'd caught on even more than he'd anticipated. Then Pansy spoke up again, at first uneasily, "so... do you have a special friend?"

Instant embarrassed, Draco felt somewhat like a schoolboy being cornered about a crush. "Kind of," he said carefully, looking down at his feet.

Pansy's voice was strong. Reddening, she asked, "kind of?"

"Yeah."

"Well," Pansy reacted, trying to brush Draco's latest comment from her worries, "the boy I'm seeing... well, one of the boys I'm seeing... he works with the Ministry." She smoothed back her dark hair, continuing to stand. Draco, on the other hand, pressed his back against the wall and watched his hair flop back over his forehead. Breathing out, he watched Pansy helplessly, wondering if he could manage to pull himself up and crawl back into bed. Something told him that such a desire was not the most realistic possibility. Continuing, Pansy pretended to be amused with herself, bragging about the multiple dates she'd had over the last several months. And Draco realized instantly how long it had been since he'd seen her... back when he'd only just been _hearing_ things.

Nonetheless, Pansy had continued in her rambling. "He says that the boy who attacked you was some madman," she added, not quite tired of hearing herself speak. "Actually, my date was one of the men who guarded him in the asylum... or knew the guy who did, or something. T-The point is... the man who attacked you was not well in the head. He's been in and out of asylums for hallucinations and other violent attacks before. You're not the first."

And thus was the news on his attacker, on Leroy Beevis. Perhaps the man hadn't been so different from Draco himself, after all. But Pansy was still on about her boyfriend and the situation in general. There was no question that Pansy was implying that Draco himself was just as crazy, but Malfoy could only keep himself quiet. And there was not much about that he could say in defense of himself anyway; the same old haziness was kicking in. He could almost feel himself loosing consciousness. And he'd only stepped outside. A newfound worry swelled over him; what if he was far worse off than he'd known?

"Pansy," Draco said, stopping her.

"Yeah?"

"'M going to go to sleep now." And carefully, Draco slumped himself back down on the marble floor and curled himself up into the same ball as he'd ben in the previous morning. He heard Pansy stammer and then clatter to the ground, her mouth running uselessly. Still, she brushed back Draco's blond hair, felt his hot forehead, and reeled back, digging through her coat to retrieve her wand. But what she was going to do with it went unknown to Draco, who was just about ill when he heard the vicious laughter of Voldemort echo around the living room.


	7. Psycho

**Vonne:** Wow! I got 15 reviews for the last chapter so, with the promise to update as soon as possible, I'm just going to add another chapter into the mix. Now, instead of having thirteen more chapters to go, we only need twelve! So, let's get right down to business, then. Because I will just ramble on and on, as you all know.

**Psychic City: **Thank you! I'm glad you caught it super fast because I was going to update another chapter right away if I got quick reviews- which I did, so yay!

**MCLanna: **Thanks! I try really hard to work on dialogue when I write because sometimes I feel I get lost in the description parts of everything. So, it actually really means a lot to me to read that you enjoy the back and forth conversation. Thank you!

**LeCandeh: **Well, you should go back to writing if that's what you want to do! I've said this before, but I go on FF to be able to write with feedback. Don't get me wrong, I'm a huge Harry Potter fan, but I do this for feedback so I can better my writing in the process. Of course, I DON'T go back and proofread what I write on here, after I write it, so that's all part of the test, I guess. You know, see how well you can do it first time around.

**Leroy UP: **Hello again! I do recognize your username from 'Radio' and I was so thrilled that you came back to read 'Basket Case'! All your reviews from the first chapter on was what really got me up and beyond the 10 reviews per chapter that I usually aim for! You definitely helped for me to update this really fast, so thank you for the much needed motivation!

**Carl: **Definitely! Since I'm trying to do this fast, here's chapter six...

**Kitty Meadow: **Thanks! I'm glad you are enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing it!

**Doni: **Hah, yes, definitely. Pansy is truly the most annoying sort. But I kind of enjoy writing her into this, she's just so fun to hate. Remember chapter 19/18 when Hermione goes over to Pansy's house? That will be one of the last couple times you will hear of Pansy. Whether or not Hermione's idea to go over and confront Pansy was a SMART idea, it at least worked out. HAH.

**Linda: **I PROMISE to keep going with this. No more accidentally deleting stories for me.

**WeatherWatch: **HA! I know what you mean. You know who this Goyle reminds me of- Wilson from 'House'. I've always loved Wilson. He's just so cute and caring. Too bad Goyle isn't really a looker, but still, I definitely know what you mean. :) I'm excited to write more with Goyle/Draco conversation because I think now that they've (at least somewhat) bettered themselves, they kind of balance each other out. Or, at least, Goyle balances Draco out. Anyway, I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter! It's always nice to hear from you!

**

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**Chapter Six:**  
**Psycho**

_He was standing in the middle of a wheat field, the wheat so tall that he could only just see the sky. Above him, the tiny little view of it was twisting, as per usual in his dreams, and the blackness was just beginning to creep in. Uneasily, Draco Malfoy stumbled backwards, finding the stem of the longest stick of wheat and gripping it desperately. But a slight squeal behind him made his desire to get out of the corn field even more heavy. His breathing quickened along with his pace and the way in which he moved was nothing more than a useless stumble. And something lengthy slid through the ground of the field; he saw the long end of it, the dark green tip of Nagani._

_His running began, as it always had; and this hallucination was no different than any of his others. As he staggered through the clustered space, the scraping sound of the massive snake followed behind him quickly. But Malfoy seemed to know where he was going, despite his conscious uncertainty. The blood dripping down the front of his face dribbled relentlessly into his mouth and he could taste the iron, slightly worrying his more aware mind. As he continued his quick steps, he was almost sure he could feel even the wind fall slightly on his face._

_And then the wheat parted in front of him, as if pulled to the side by some unknown force. Something stood in the beige clearing, a large upheld figure that was blackened by the shadows of the tall grass. The shadow's hands were outstretched, it's head bowed lifelessly. The hair from the figure floated about the shadow's skull and upon a large wooden stake the limp thing hung._

_The wind hastily picked up around Malfoy and the scarecrow, whose chest heaved up and down. Only a rattling breathed emerged from the open mouth of the thing, a slightly white gust of cold air emitting from between its lips. However, Malfoy chose not to waste anytime, chose to act without truly thinking about it first. So, he stepped slightly forward, bending forward, a slightly deep clump in the depths of his own throat. "H-Hello?" he asked the suffering thing mildly, his own hair rushing about his pale face. "C-Can you h-hear m-me?"_

_There came no answer and Malfoy could not take it any longer. Even in his dreamlike hallucination, he knew that there was something wrong with the scene. He could even almost recognize the breathing, the faint and lovely breaths of someone he was sure he'd knew... perhaps had even felt something for. Under the lack of light, despite the moon, the body upon the scarecrow stake groaned slightly, though it was no asleep. In the moments that no words passed between the two of them, the figure finally lifted its heavy head. And then he could see her, radiant despite the blood that leaked from her head. Hermione Jean Granger's eyes swiveled around and then locked within Draco's, her mouth slowly forming the words: "help me."_

_Instantly, Draco started forward, his heart pounding desperately deep within his skeleton. He could hardly lift his hands, but he moved for the stake almost desperately. Hermione did not say another word. Instead, she seemed to gaze off wildly into the distance, tears running down her mud-stained face, rather dirtying it over cleaning it up. "D-Don't worry," Malfoy was calling to her over the harsh noise of the heavy wind, "I'm going to get you down... we're going to get out of here and..."_

_It then came again, that scurrying scraping noise of the snake that made Hermione's body convulse ever so slightly. Something bigger was happening- despite the wind, it was getting much more hot. And the sky lit up with orange flames, devouring the night in all its red glorified chaos. Something was on fire, the world was melting vastly before his very eyes. And the sound of the snake picked up around them; the sound of a pair of bare, rotting feet hit the gruff wheat covered earth. On the stake where she hung, Hermione's eyes found something moving in the distance, the head of someone hairless and corpse-like was drawing near them. Hermione's long, overdrawn scream rung out loudly over the madness._

_Both Hermione and Malfoy broke out in a deep fit of panic. His hands slid across the ropes that laced around Hermione's body and all he could think about was how real the entire dream had felt. But Hermione was not struggling, not trying to help him out in the slightest. Instead she permitted herself to remain lifeless upon the wood pole, her eyes pitched forward, her breath wild and heavy. "Shh," Draco instructed desperately, afraid of the advancing corpse in the distance that had begun ruthlessly calling his name. Malfoy's hands fell rigorously all over himself, scratching his knuckles against the splintery stake, "please, Hermione..."_

_"Draco," came the lingering voice, high-pitched and unforgettable, "Draco..."_

_Against the backdrop of the scene, the field caught fire. Every inch of long wheat broke out into red hot flames, smoldering down the stem of each one individually. And Malfoy's definition of hurry took on an entirely new meaning. He fumbled with the unyielding ropes, tried with all he had just to loosen even one knot. He tried until something hit him square across the chest. A burning sensation spread through his body electrically and he slumped unwillingly, his hands stopping himself from colliding completely to the ground in a mess. But Hermione did not seem to take notice, she only stared forward, gazed straight ahead of herself fearfully._

_And Nagini slithered past Malfoy's outstretched foot, wrapping around it completely and taking hold of his slender ankle. When finally Voldemort brought himself to view, the fire had advanced along with him. And the fire crawled up towards the stake, caught hold of the end of Hermione's white skirt, and ended the world in an instant._

_

* * *

_

Pansy Parkinson drew in a huge breath. Her face was ghost white and her hair a mess. And though Malfoy hadn't fully been knocked unconscious, if he hadn't known any better, it was Pansy who was suffering the most between the two of them. "Holy shit!" she panted, flopping backwards, her wand clattering to the floor. She had not used it; hadn't really found the strength or the spell. Uselessly, she peered back down at Malfoy, her eyes wide and wild. "Don't _do _that to me, Draco! Don't... ever." Then, shakily, she drew her hand into her small clutch purse and drew out a cigarette box, reaching inside it with two uneasy fingers. She glanced back at Draco and cocked her chin to the side. Slipping the cigarette in to her lips, she said with a mouthful, "be a doll?"

Draco looked down at his own discarded wand and raised an eyebrow back up at her. Blinking back into the light, he glanced around mindlessly. It was a dream. He was not in the wheat field and Voldemort was dead. And Hermione... Hermione was alive. He breathed quickly like a madman, his hair in a mess on top of his head. Pansy, on the other hand, shifted slightly, her eyes flickering from him to her unlit cigarette. Surely, she'd been joking; he could hardly list his chest let alone his wand in order to light her limp little cigarette. He made a merely unamused grimace and Pansy tossed her eyes to the side. "Right," she said, distressed, before once again plucking back up her wand and pointing it at her mouth. She muttered something quickly and then a simple little spark jetted out of the end of her wand catching the end of her cigarette conclusively. With the end of her smoke stick lit, Pansy breathed in the smoke, blew it quiveringly out from her nostrils, and slunk backwards against the wall. "You could have scared me to death, Draco. I hope you're happy."

Sighing, Malfoy managed to lift his head. He'd felt as if he could possibly be sick, but even such a risk was better than listening to Pansy ramble uselessly on. Thus, he slumped forwards, grabbed achingly for the floor ahead of him, and yanked himself up by the curtains, wobbling like a baby as he attempted to march back to his bedroom. "Hey!" Pansy shouted back, her face falling even further than it had previously. The lines on her face stood out ten fold, she looked almost miserable even after having her well-needed fag. "Hey, where are you going now?" she coughed, swishing white smoke away from her face.

"Rest," Malfoy told her, just as he reached the large living room sofa.

Pansy tore her cigarette from her mouth. "But," she responded, watching him stumble across the room. He was doing a fairly decent job of looking like someone handicapped, though Pansy was fully sure that he was not pretending. "But," she tried again, this time waiting until he'd fumbled sloppily over the first step, "but how are you going to get up those stairs?" Though Malfoy wasn't fully sure himself, he gripped the steady railing and lifted his first foot. So far so good; perhaps he'd underestimated himself. Or, there was always the more likely possibility that his heavy desperation to get away from Pansy was what was giving him so much strength in the first place.

There was a scarping sound that came from behind him and Pansy pulled herself up off the floor, stumbling towards him in her high heels. She watched him at the sofa, fixing her messy hair in the mirror opposite of her. Her cigarette sat lifelessly between her lips and as she made facial expressions at herself, the thing bobbed up and down, abused. "Well, wait up," she insisted once she'd readjusted herself to perfection. She pulled her brunette hair back into place and pinched her cheeks readily, squeezing the frightened look that had before tainted her appearance. Lovely, she followed after him, her heels clip-clopping against the marble floor.

But Draco didn't wait up or, more accurately, he did not intend to wait up. However, being as slow as he was, Pansy took his lingering actions as such intentional courtesy. She did not help him up the stairs, though. Instead she took to watching him curiously and seeming almost sincerely impressed when he'd managed to stumble to the top. As he staggered to his bedroom, pulled open his door, and flopped back down on to the mattress, she remained pitched in the doorframe, the sultry cigarette smoke floating around her inquisitive expression. Malfoy wasn't paying Pansy's lingering figure much attention. He groaned miserably, pulled off his heavy jacket and tossed it grumpily to the cluttered mess on the floor. Even in his dark trousers, Draco remained in his nice shirt and pulled the bed sheets back over his head and pressed his face down on the pillow.

The echoed audio of Voldermort that played relentlessly in his end started up again and faded out, quick as it had come.

Something about having Pansy in his doorway seemed strangely wrong to Draco at that very moment, once he'd managed to silence the pestering thoughts in the back of his head. Should he have been allowing another woman in his bedroom? Was it against the rules?

"Your room is a mess," Pansy said after a long while of saying absolutely nothing. She hadn't moved from the spot since she'd arrived there, though she had slumped back into her usual position of seduction. Her long legs crossed sulkily over one another, she pressed her head back onto the frame of the door and examined the groggy lump under the white bed sheets that was Draco Malfoy. He'd been ignoring her since she'd arrived and such treatment was not something that she was used to. Despite the broken engagement, she couldn't bare to pull herself away from the house, couldn't even manage to walk about from that damn mess of a bedroom. Perhaps she'd had too much pride, perhaps defeat was not in the vocabulary of one Pansy Parkinson. "Do you want me to get you something to drink?" she asked, once again regaining herself. Anger was not a look that Pansy practiced often. "Some wine? Or even a cigarette..."

Malfoy breathed back into the pillow. His temples throbbing, his throat running cold, his eyes were just about to spill over with frustrated tears. But he should have been used to this by now; for the only time he'd truly gotten any suitable sleep was in the hours he'd spent unwillingly unconscious. For a moment, though, he considered permitting Pansy to bring him some wine. He instantly, however, thought better of it; he hadn't had a single drink in weeks and, warmly, he considered Hermione part of his progression. He did not ask her to bring him anything. Instead, he replied back groggily, "Pansy, you know I don't smoke."

"Pity," Pansy breathed, "it'd would be good for you, you know." Examining her cigarette, she flicked a bit of ash on to the marble floor and squished it with the bottom of her shoe playfully. "It would probably get you to relax a bit more. Calm your nerves."

Maybe Pansy had a point there; calming down was certainly one of Draco's newfound desires. A newly calm attitude would perhaps lessen the intensity of his dreams, even possibly make them less realistic. Besides, he did not know how much more nightmares he could take... was almost unable to truly identify them from reality. However, despite his consideration for the possibly of Pansy's suggestion, Draco responded with yet another mumble. "Pansy?" he asked, listening to her stiffed back up against the wall.

"Yeah, Draco?" she said slowly, hopefully.

"Please, go home." Only momentarily did Draco feel sorry for being so rude. However, he couldn't help that persisting feeling that having her around was somehow deceitful. Anyway, there were other things on his mind, especially Hermione. And he couldn't help but wonder about her health. Surely, she was still alive and well, but his nightmare truly had horrified him. Thus, he didn't need any other distractions, including that of Pansy Parkinson. Still, that did not keep the woman from slumping down, the sultry look wiping instantly from her face.

She said curtly, "fine, Draco. Get your rest, if you must." Then, droopily, she turned on her heels, a rush of angry heat filling her body. But as Draco heard the retreating steps from Pansy, jumping slightly as she slammed the doors, he reached out once again towards the radio.

* * *

The tiny little thing next to Hermione Granger gave a minute jolt and the voice of Draco Malfoy came pleadingly through the speakers. "H-Hermione?" he started softly, in a voice was almost far too hoarse to fully understand. "Hermione, you there?"

She considered answering it- she really did, but instead she stuck to her book, through which she turned the page apprehensively. However, there was something so needy about the voice on the other end that broke Hermione almost instantly. She slumped down in her small seat and glanced around the room guiltily. "Yes?" she asked back, closing the front cover back on her hand. It had not been long since she'd spoken to Draco, but she couldn't manage to resist speaking back through the speakers. And still, the library was rather empty; not even the skinny librarian peered over her glasses to warn her.

"Hermione?" Draco responded back, a bit more joyful. His voice cracked, unfamiliar with the inevitably high range in which his tone rose to. "Hermione! Oh, thank God!"

Curiously, Hermione lifted her eyebrow. Feverishly, she turned back to the radio, nearing it with a brand new sense of inquiry. "What are you on about?" she asked, a newfound bit of worry rising up in her own chest.

But Malfoy seemed almost too gleeful for words. She heard him slump back against the wall, clamp his hand over his chest. He muttered slightly to himself and then pressed back down on the speaker button. "Where are you?" he asked, as if just to make sure. However, it was Draco's hurry that was giving Hermione the chills. She refrained from asking him if he'd hit the bottle again and once again checked her surroundings.

"I'm exactly where I said I'd be," she told him. "The public library. Now, please... get some rest."

However, Malfoy was not content with her suggestion. Instead, he just about perked up, whispering back into the radio instantly. "D-Do you want me t-to come over?"

Hermione leaned back, considering this. But she did not truly know what she'd wanted at the moment, though she knew was was important. Sighing, she admitted that her unidentified research at the library was something that, like it or not, had to be done. Besides, being curious was one of Hermione's most well-known traits. "No," she said, trying to sound both soothing and stern. "I want you to go to sleep." And just when Malfoy leaned back into the speakers to protest, Hermione cut him off, "I will see you later," she advised and with that, turned the radio off completely.

Then, she pulled back open the massive book with the title that read: _"A Mind Lost: Cases of the Criminally Insane"_.

Sure, she'd felt back about blowing Draco off so quickly, but there was specific business that she needed more than anything to attend to. And that business undoubtedly involved the massive book there in front of her on the table top. Thus, she stuffed the radio away from her and smoothed her brunette hair behind her ears. It was particularly windy outside, despite the falling snow. Still, she'd received not an ounce of sleep during the night prior and decisively woke up early in order to begin researching. She turned the pages quickly, her eyes scanning the paper pictures attentively. Though the thing was nothing but a collection of lengthy pages and document scans, dating even earlier than even Hermione could remember.

She almost jumped back at the faces that growled at her from the pages, their grimy faces covered in sweat and spit and blood. But finally, she'd come across it, the letters of the sought after name printed dark in big, bold letters. Leroy Beevis' picture moved restlessly in front of her, his eyes fast and darting. There was something striking about his face and he'd would have appeared young if it were not for the scars that ran across his visage. The young man was wrapped in a straight jacket, his mouth dripping blood and spit. There was a yellow tint to his teeth and a buildup of tears in his glossy eyes. With slashing out at the photographer in front of him, he yelled out soundlessly.

Hermione's eyes fell down from the pages, her fingers brushing against the surface of Beevis' moving portrait. Underneath his photograph, Hermione read:

_"Convicted in 2001, Leroy Beevis has been in and out of a diverse amount of institutes for the both the mentally and criminally insane. Despite his young age, Beevis was found guilty that same year of killing two unidentified young followers of Voldemort, though the victims were never officially accepted into the group. However, Beevis did not leave the crime scene alone once the murders were committed; some witness recount even seeing him return to the bloody scene multiple times before attempting to actually burry them. Nonetheless, the corpses were found shortly after and the surplus amount of evidence made sure that Beevis was instantly convicted._

_However, the claims of insanity did not come from Beevis, who insists that he is still in his right mind. After evaluation from specialized phycologist Eliane Galler, these conclusions were found to be almost indefinitely likely. Nonetheless, after only one year in the Hobb's Insanitarium, Leroy Beevis was released under the care of Galler, whose therapy building provides support for those suffering from such mental illnesses. While Beevis' temper was reported to be acceptable, even Galler could not shake the feeling that something was not quite right. Though Galler refused to comment on Beevis' mental situation for the sake of publication, an unnamed employee told, 'Leroy Beevis was persistently resistant towards the staff, even proclaiming what were death threats to the lot of us. It got so bad that sedating him was perhaps the least we could do to contain him.'"_

Hermione glanced back at the page. He was so young, perhaps even right-minded at one point of his life. For a moment she watched the moving picture questionably, as if she'd figured she'd missed something before. But there was something so strange behind the man's leaking eyes; perhaps he truly was as dangerous as the pages let on.

_"Eventually," _the text continued, "_Beevis' behavior proved too much for Galler's staff. Despite Galler's objection to have the man released from her care, Beevis was once again transfered back to Hobb's, where he remained for a year in solitude, a result of his consistent resistance against the more stricter staff. However, yet another move was about to occur. As the result of a claim of violence on the patients of the institution, Beevis along with the other inmates were released from the institution to the temporary care of another asylum with extra open space. However, Beevis' whereabouts since the transfer still currently baffles the Wizarding World as well as the Ministry. A search is currently being conducted in hopes of finding the missing and highly dangerous criminal."_

Leaning back, Hermione felt as if she'd almost had to catch her breath. Despite being a newly published book, Hermione felt slightly more relaxed to know that Beevis had been caught and dealt with. Still, his escape had done much to explain his ability to get to Draco so easily. She leaned back into the book, however, the article on Beevis had ended; there was absolutely nothing left on the madman. A desire to know more filled her hastily and, almost furious, she stood up from her seat, tucking the book back into her backpack. She'd gotten this far, and there was absolutely no way that she'd consider stopping any time soon.

No, of course not. She was Hermione Granger, and in the back of her mind, she remembered determined: Hobb's Insanitarium.

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**Vonne: **Someone asked me previously in a review if I was going to add more previews of upcoming chapters to the end of these. I might just do that, however, I need to find passages that don't end up giving too, too much away. Besides, I know everyone's waiting for chapter 20, but I want it to be new when I actually do publish those chapters. So, the answer to the preview questions is... maybe. I'll be looking for some not too spoiler passages to send your way! As for now, review, review, review! All this 're-run' stuff should be done soo soon.


	8. Haunted

**Vonne:** This chapter is so SHORT. After going back and looking over this, I was surprised to find how short this whole thing was. Well, that means I'm just going to keep uploading new chapters as soon as I get the reviews as I want. So, even though this seems short, I hope we can just MOVE ON to the next chapter right away after this one. That being said, this was a very important chapter, so at least I got it out of the way! I hope you all still liked it, though!

Now, as usual...

**Psychic City: **Yeah, thank you! :) Now I'm waiting for YOU to update, missy. Hm...

**MCLanna: **Thank you so much! As always, I'm so happy that you enjoy reading this- it makes it all worth while.

**LeCandeh: **Thank you! It's always nice to hear how much people enjoy reading my writing style. I love to write and it's one of my favorite compliments to get. I really just love being creative with art and I've always been that way, so really... it's definitely appreciated.

**Carl: **Thanks, Carl the Girl. :)

**Kitty Meadow: **Thank you! I liked the last chapter, too. I'm just sad that this one now is so short. So, once again, I'm going to try and do another fast update if the reviews come in like they have been. I appreciate them all so much.

**Leroy UP: **Thank you very much! I hope you like this chapter just as much, too.

Since I was over the review limit I had for these chapters, I'm just going to update this chapter now, despite only getting six or so reviews for this last chapter. That's totally fine, because somehow, I'm still on track with around ten reviews per chapter. Thank you all so much, and I truly am so excited to get all caught up!

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**Chapter Seven:  
Haunted**

The snow wasn't exactly the most ideal weather at the moment, but that wasn't stopping Hermione Granger from advancing towards the stoutly massive building that stood on the hill in front of her. All in all, the place was pretty bleak, though it had very much done its purpose. Gated and assumably stable, it was daunting even from a far distance. Glancing down at the little paper map that rest in her hands, Hermione braced herself; there was no doubt about it- this was the place. But despite the quick heartbeat, she stuffed away the map and fastened the scarf tight around her skinny neck. The large sign in front of her read in thick carved letters: Hobb's: Psychiatric Asylum.

However, her certainty was not officially a promise. Hermione had only assumed that Hobb's was Beevis' residency from the description in the library book. But trying was something that she knew that she had to do, despite not truly knowing. Still, she started up the long path that winded up towards the locked gates, perhaps dooming her. Even snowing, Hermione couldn't help but feel a quick burst of nervous heat spread through her body. It seemed as if at any moment she could turn back, however, her persisting feet dragged her onward. But why was it that Hermione was so horrified about the place? Really, even Hermione wasn't sure herself. The quick tampering that meddled about her mind unnerved her, but the thought of Draco Malfoy kept her going. Mentally, she cursed him. Selfishly, she couldn't help but desire him. Still, her face reddened in frustration. Draco Malfoy, that unbelievable bastard.

The men at the gates glanced Hermione up and down, their eyes scanning her quickly. But being Hermione Granger had its perks and not a single question stopped her from entering the building. So, as a new swing of confidence swelled back up in her, Hermione straightened her slacking posture. She rethought her previous uncertainties. Who'd she been kidding? She was, and had always been, Hermione Jean Granger. If she could assist Harry Potter in the downfall of Voldemort, surely she could do anything. A newfound pounce was added to her step. Tracking properly through the snow, she did not even have to brace herself before pushing open the front doors of the asylum and breathing in the awfully stale air.

An instant sent overtook her, even just as she came through the front entrance way. Inside, the place was almost a headache-inducing shade of virgin white. White tiles lined the floor and only several feet away sat the glass administration desk. The reflection of a narrow-eyed nurse glanced back over at Hermione, her hair tied tightly back against the end of her skull. For a moment she seemed a bit stuck by the sight of a young girl, but then she leaned forward, slid open the glass window and continued her evaluation. Perhaps Hermione had overestimated herself.

"Erm- hello," Hermione started, advancing forward with a slight stumble. She sketched a sweet smile across her face and extended her hand outwards. However, the nurse behind the glass did not take to Hermione as instantly. However, while she did not shake her hand, she grinned instantly.

"Hello," the woman said, her voice echoing against the empty walls of the entrance room, which was big despite its minor purpose. Just beside the administration box, there were two doors, both white, that led to the rest of the institution behind her. The thought of the contents behind the door made a slight chill ran down the course of Hermione's spine. "And how may I help you this morning?" the woman continued, noticing Hermione's faltering focus.

Responsively, Hermione's eyes snapped away from the doors, embarrassed for herself. Tirelessly, she manage to put on a professional expression and she approached the very glass with a brand new smile. "Yes," she said again, still as polite as ever. She began, "my name is Hermione Granger," a brilliant little tactic that she'd picked up from having worked in the Ministry. Throwing her name out in important situations had always come to Hermione's advantage. However, the nurse's face did not even flicker and Hermione's inconsistent confidence had finally burnt out. "A-And I was just here for a visit." Responsively, the woman behind the desk raised an eyebrow. "Oh, right," Hermione stammered, "his name is Beevis. Er- Leroy Beevis, if you please."

There came a bout of silence that Hermione had definitely not expected. The woman opposite her had frozen completely. She seemed almost too stiff to even respond back. Still, after not too long of a moment, she seemed to regain herself. "I'm sorry, Ms. Granger, but I have to inform you that that is entirely impossible at this time. Mr. Beevis has not been permitted to have any visitors." Despite the bad news, Hermione felt a rush of pride- she'd been right about Beevis' whereabouts. Her confidence in her intelligence had been almost fully restored.

Though her disappointment was nonetheless blatant. "Oh," she said back, meekly, "well, when can I come back?"

"I'm afraid that you won't be able to see Mr. Beevis for any time soon, Ms. Granger," the woman answered back in an instant. "Mr. Beevis' is not in the condition, nor the mindset, to see anyone at this time." Then, she pressed her torso backwards. She tended back to the stack of papers in front of her and glanced back up at Hermione from over he top of them. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Standing still, Hermione took her rubbing her forearm. She nervously smoothed her hair back and cleared her throat. She swallowed timidly, feeling utterly foolish. "I guess not," she commented, icy and a bit put off. "Thanks." Then, defeated, she took off from the glass desk box. Her mitten-covered hands retightened her scarf and she pulled down on the hunter's hat that sat on top of her messy brunette hair. Maybe she'd over thought her visit entirely. Starting away from the woman, Hermione swore distinctly to herself. Where was her mind as of lately. Surely she wasn't under the impression that she could just waltz into an asylum for the criminally insane that easily. Besides, the whole place was completely wrapped around a gate. Even the basketball courts were caged in.

Freezing, Hermione's smile crept back onto her chilled visage. As she reached the front doors for the second time that afternoon, she skipped descending down the narrow path completely. Instead, Hermione stole behind the side of the rectangular building. And maybe hanging around Draco Malfoy was beginning to rub off on her. She yanked the hat back down over her eyes and darted around the corner with fast feet. She could spot the gate in the distance, could even hear the sound of the ball bouncing against the court floor. She narrowly darted towards the court, pressed her back against the gate, and glanced around.

Only two men stood watch at the gate and, though they spotted her, they seemed to recognize her personally at once. As one daringly tipped his hat to her, Hermione smiled, graciously approaching the gated basketball court with a new gust of excitement. And there she was, so close and yet so far. Though Beevis was no where to be seen, however, his absence was expected. While she watched the institutionalized men bounce the dull orange ball across the courts, Hermione gripped the gate aggressively, once again feeling her stomach twist with unwanted anxiety.

"Well, hello, little lady," said a new voice through the wind and Hermione's head snapped instantly upwards.

The man that stood before her was tall and looming, his mess of gray hair covered by a black beanie. He wore a white uniform that covered his entire body, but had been assumably permitted to wear a coat for the weather. A messy gauze had been wrapped around the circumference of the man's bruised head and his teeth were rotting with lack of suitable hygiene. The deep slices across his face were, all things considered, as awful as the smile on his sullen face. Still, he'd approached her and Hermione really hadn't been able to turn away. "Hi," Hermione said back uneasily, feeling instantly small. Perhaps sneaking around wasn't the best idea she'd had all day. She wasn't suitable for this kind of work. As she glanced back to the two guards in the corner, she relied on them and the gate to keep her safe.

However, the man started back at her in a fast instant. "Oh, I knew I'd recognized you." Then, laughing, he clarified, "I may be a madman, Ms. Granger, but even I can spot a hero when I see one."

Blushing, Hermione managed to smile. "Oh, yes," she said, blinking. Truly, she had expected him to say such a thing, "I er... thank you."

"You know," the man continued, "before I wound up in this place, back when I was haunting houses for a living, I knew who you were. You and Potter and Weasley." Smiling, he showed her his set of teeth that were anything but ravishing. She could even smell his breath at her distance from him, though he seemed safe enough, perhaps more of a gentlemanly madman.

Considering his previous statement, Hemione asked inquisitively, taking a short pause from her initial goal, "don't you have to be dead to haunt a home?"

To which the man instantly replied, "ah, well, little lady, I've been dead for a long time." However, when Hermione's face fell, he further clarified, "no, not dead in that whole morose depressed sort of way, ma'am. If you study me close enough, you'll find that I don't have a pulse."

"Ah," Hermione said, glancing down. Who'd she been kidding- he was completely insane. Though she put on an understand smile as she watched his breath smoke out from his open mouth.

"Not a problem, little lady," the tall man beamed. Hermione considered him for a moment. He didn't seem too crazy, despite the look on his face. "Now," he said, squaring himself away, "I assume you've come here for reasons other than a desire to watch us play a game of ball." Around the two of them, the other men did not seem too interested in the ball game, either. They glanced curiously at Hermione, but continued hastily to their own business. Nonetheless, she hadn't quite noticed the gray-haired man's consistent twitching. As she scanned the rather pathetic basketball game that, quite truthfully, wasn't really happening, he muttered hurriedly to himself. Cleverly, Hermione glanced down at the paper bracelet around his thick wrist. The name upon it read: Roy Little. Irony set in; Roy was not so obviously little.

"Actually," Hermione started, deciding to take the bull by the horns. She had come this far and there was no real need to stop now. "Actually, I was wondering... I was wondering about Leroy Beevis?" At once the man stiffened. He stopped his murmurs and turned back to Hermione with an entirely new solemn grimace.

He said finally, "well then, you truly are not here to watch us play basketball. Well, then," he continued, his twitches growing a bit more frequent, "dark stuff. Dark stuff, Ms. Granger."

Roy Little's back slightly slumped forward. As the jumbled man shook, he almost appeared as if he'd regretted approaching Hermione in the first place. But he'd seemed like a nice enough man, perhaps greatly out of his mind. And maybe the haunting was the reason he'd ended up at Hobb's in the first place, but who was Hermione to judge? "Unfortunately," Hermione scoffed, leaning forward a bit.

"Haven't seen him," Roy answered back quickly; he did not even skip a single beat. However, his eyes were pressed shut and he seemed almost tired with the panting he'd recently took to. "We... the lot of us... we saw him arrive here and t-they took him away." Then, once his eyes opened back up, he looked them directly into Hermione's. "We hear him though."

Hermione's brow arched inquisitively, "hear him?" she pressed on, the tension rising in her chest. "What do you mean, 'we hear him'?"

"Well, sure," Little said again, his nose a bright shade of burnt red, "he's up... up all night screaming and hollering. But most of it is... it's nonsense, jibberish. Talks about that Malfoy boy a lot. That is... until they put him out for the night."

Hermione's head buzzed. Blinking, she asked curiously, "he talks about... about Draco?"

"Yeah, that Lucius Malfoy's son. Draco Malfoy, yeah the ex-Death Eater." There seemed, however, to be an intense amount of bitterness in his tone. Though Roy appeared as if he hadn't seen the light of day outside the institution for well over ten years. Nonetheless, the managed to regain himself, his gray hair just about coming out of his fitted beanie. "I couldn't tell you the stuff he says even if I'd wanted to, Miss," he continued, as if reading her mind, "most of the time, Beevis is put away, anyway." He rubbed his hands together to shake the chilliness from his body. Through his open mouth he sucked in a hefty amount of winter air and turned back to Hermione, moving a bit jerkingly. "What do you want to know about Beevis for then? He doesn't talk much to anybody, only spits prophecies and other nonsense."

Stopping, Hermione bit her bottom lip, chapped from the pitiful weather outside. Her shoulders sagged and her grip on the gate slackened. Loosely, she brought her own gloved hands back into her pockets, her eyes still focused on the game around her. "Right," she mumbled, "then, do you know of any place where I could find out?"

Little seemed to instantly mull this over. He chewed his own lower lip, tilted his old head to one side and glanced over the court thoughtfully. "Other than directly from Beevis himself? If you're willing to talk to him, that is... man's a nutter."

Shifting her weight, Hermione blew icy breath out from her pursed lips. She said flatly, "yeah, well, I've already tried that option."

Roy looked back down at her, his height rather admirable to tell the truth. "Well," he said, his twitches taking a short hiatus for the time being, "you work with the Ministry, don't you? Believe it or not, I had an internship down there before I started haunting. And, straight from me to you, I happen to know that the Ministry has copies of the institution's files buried around somewhere... for legal reasons and all."

Hermione wasn't sure if she could catch her breath. Initially, her expression was that of shock, and then her lips finally formed into that of a brilliant smile. Sure, the man was crazy, sure he'd haunted the homes of the also-living. But Hermione didn't doubt him for a second, in fact, she was almost positive that he was on to something. While she'd never had the chance to look through the Ministry's secret files, she was, after all, Hermione Jean Granger. And surely she could think of something. At once she tore away from the gate, almost literally bursting with excitement, and started off towards the trees. "Mr. Little," she shouted as she backed away, "I owe you one!"

"Ah, don't worry about it, Ms. Granger!" Roy shouted back, smiling. However, as the distance grew between the two of them, his positive expression melted. Upon his distraught face, a significant frown formed and he rushed out, back towards the gate, his fingers wound into the fence. "But don't forget, Ms. Granger, that we are all haunting or haunted... every single one of us."

* * *

Hermione's hands felt around in the dark, her hair tied back, her parka loose around her shoulders. It had been much more easy to sneak into the Ministry's office, then to try and get into Hobb's. Of course, being Hermione Granger had, naturally, had its perks. Nonetheless, she'd arrived around the evening and the sky had been pitch black. The orange-tinted lights that lined the halls of the beautiful building and Hermione picked the collar up higher around her neck.

Rhythmically, the soles of her shoes beat across the marble floor of the Ministry. Each single step bounced across the empty walls and Hermione, anxious as she was, avoided her reflection in the glossy tile walls that surrounded her. Her eyes scanned the labels on the doors, instead, searching until she finally found the large one she'd been looking for. And there it was, so simply laid out in front of her. A rush swelled around Hermione as she leaned out towards the door, glancing over her shoulder carefully. Then, without further delay, she made completely for it, grasping the door handle with full aggression.

The door opened apprehensively and Hermione's lingering shadow stretched outwards into the open room before her. There, the large filing room shimmering elegantly, a room that seemed almost too lovely for its single purpose. She'd been in the massive room before, having done simple files in order to work her way up in the Ministry in the first place. However, snooping around was not truly Hermione's motive- not until now. Nonetheless, her pounding heart signified her desperation, her need for the files more than anything. She did not linger on the risk of it all, but rather set her sight on the large cabinets, turned on her heels, and shut the door lightly behind her.

Thus, she was plunged into an immense shade of blackness. Quickly, she pulled out her wand, whispered, _"lumos!" _and examined the drawers with only a globe of white light surrounding the tip. Her eyes moved rather quickly, for time was certainly a factor, and she located the drawer labeled 'B'. Carefully she whisked open the drawer, her fingers rummaging through files of all different surnames. But, to her luck, Beevis' file was there in front of her, as if waiting to be drawn like some anticipating child. Feverishly, she grabbed for it, her throat running dry. Vibrantly, her heart pounded inside of her chest; she glanced over her shoulder- she seemed safe for the current time being.

Almost overly excited, she pulled open the hefty thing, which was filled with a surplus amount of papers and newspaper clippings. At the front of the sturdy folder, Beevis' face watched her, but his facial expression was that of a statue. His eyes moved only slightly, watching her as if he'd only been a simple spectator. His messy hair from before had been cut short, buzzed, and his left eye was surrounded by a gruesome black bruise. In front of him, he held a lengthy identification number, a prisoner's number, and he wore nothing but pure white. Chilled, Hermione ignored the photograph, for it was nothing but a picture, and fixed her eyes on the first sheet of manilla paper. The sheet was long and factual, written neatly as if typed by a typewriter. Pressing her back to the wall behind her, Hermione hid herself cautiously and held her breath, reading:

_"Name: Leroy Millicent Beevis  
Date of Birth: __December 1, 1977_

_Born to Charity Almeda Wood and Parker Andrew Beevis, Leroy's behavior as a child was notably questionable. Despite being a distinctly quiet boy, Charity and Andrew had much trouble refraining their son from participating in strange activities. Without many friends, the young Beevis boy often took to spending his time in solitude. However, neither of his parents took much notice to his awkward hobbies until they learned of his fascination with Voldemort who, at the time, had started collecting 'Death Eaters'. While awaiting admittance into Hogwarts, Leory Beevis' questionable behavior at the __London__ Muggle schools resulted in expulsion at the age of only ten. Their son's odd behaviors proved to be too much for the family, and Charity and Andrew split not long after._

_Though the real trouble would not occur until several years after. According to Albus Dumbledore, long time Headmaster of the well-known wizarding school, Leroy Beevis' reputation for being a quiet child was not any different growing up. He graduated with average grades and took off into the Wizarding World without any real motivations. But despite Beevis' fascination with the world of Voldemort and the Death Eaters, he did not associate himself with them after Voldemort's rise of power later on. Instead, he remained residing in the empty apartments along Hogsmeade, where it is suggested that his mind began faltering rapidly._

_Beevis' claims involving the ability to see into the future notable started around this time. However, after numerous failed predictions, his 'abilities' were never credited. While living in the apartments, he took to harming himself, animals, and scrawling graffiti on the building's walls. Although his behavior remained unnoticed until his first crime years later._

_His first known crime was the murder of both Linda Pot and Clark Russel, though the two names have been unreleased to the public. Both Pot and Russel had been one of Voldemort's Death Eaters, though their popularity among the group was considerably minor as neither of the two were extremely credible. Nontheless, their bodies were found bloodied and disfigured in an open clearing several miles from the __village__ of __Hogsmeade__. Upon the discovery of the two mutilated corpses, a jogger had spotted Beevis, who had returned to the scene. It was discovered not long after that he had payed the two dead bodies visits almost daily until the two were discovered._

_While Beevis took no ownership to the murders, he was institutionalized at Hobb's, where he only spent one year under the eye of Elaine Galler. His off and on residency between insanitariums resulted in his release for what was intended to be only two months. However, his escape from the criminal justice system took a heavy toll on the Ministry, who conducted what turned out to be a one month long manhunt, during which time Beevis had returned to Galler's offices, though not for therapy appointments. Hidden underneath a heap of clothing and assuming a false identity, Beevis managed to get in and out of Galler's office without detection. He managed to remain fairly well-behaved until the night of December 11, nearing the four weeks after his escape. Upon this night, Beevis came in contact with Draco Malfoy, son of ex-Death Eater Lucius Malfoy. The attack that night has not been fully documented due to inability to come into contact with the Malfoy's, Draco, and Elaine Galler._

_However, the night's events resulted in Beevis' location. After having been ceased, the madman was once again placed under the care of Hobb's Asylum. He has been cut off from any contact and his permission to see Elaine Galler has been but on suspension. Even institutionalized, he is considered highly dangerous."_

Hermione reached the end of the paper only half enlightened. So Beevis had been a nutcase from early on, but the document had hardly done much to cure her curiosity. Though she couldn't deny the need to speak with him directly- his fascination with the Death Eaters and Malfoy instantly hooked her. She took slight comfort in the fact that he'd been put away, nonetheless. Though, she stuffed the rest of the files into her backpack, returning to the open drawer only to close it. Sore from sitting, she pulled herself back up to a standpoint and glanced over the dark room conclusively.

Although something new caught her eye: the drawer labeled 'M'.

Her attention swept over the shaded room once again and, carefully, she neared it slowly. She should have been out of the room a long time ago, however, the drawer had completely captured her focus. Somewhere in that big drawer was Draco Malfoy's file and somewhere in that file, she could see it all. Only for a moment did she stop and consider moving forward towards the thing, but a harsh rush of instinct took over her ruthlessly. She made way towards the door, fast and unstoppable. Her delicate fingers took hold of the handle and she pulled the metal thing wide open, staring at it like a freshly unlocked treasure chest.

She located it, pulled it upwards, and slumped back against the wall. As if she were a sibling about to dive into their sister's diary, she could feel the anticipation building up in her chest. Shaky hands pulled the front cover to the file open, her forehead melted with anxiety. And there he was, Draco Malfoy, on the back of the front cover, his photograph merely a sad representation of a miserable human being. His photograph was almost five years old; dressed in a dark black suit, Malfoy's hair was shorter and smoothed back. At the side corner of the photograph, a large, pale hand cupped his lowered shoulder, presumably the fingers of Lucius Malfoy, who had been cut from frame. The dark circles underneath Draco's cold eyes were undeniable, a profound grimace on his pallor face. The only movement he took to in the picture was the swift motion of his eyes before he looked to up at his father and then instantly back at his feet.

And, honestly, she couldn't help herself. Turning the page was a must, divulging herself into the documents of Malfoy was almost completely inevitable; it had to be done and she had to know.

_"Name: Draco Malfoy  
Date of Birth: __June 5th, 1980_

_Born to Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy in the summer of 1980, there was almost no question about how the young boy was brought up. Thrust into a rich and highly successful family, the Malfoy's commitment to Voldmort lasted long before his second rise to power. Nonetheless, it wasn't until Draco, the Malfoy's only child, had reached his sixth year at Hogwarts that Voldemort took particular interest in the boy. However, due to Draco Malfoy's inability to murder Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, the entire Malfoy family lost a heavy amount of credibility in the Death Eater's group. Nonetheless, the family's loyalty remained with Voldemort until they neared the end of the second Wizarding war, thanks to last minute alliance changes in the name of Narcissa Malfoy._

_Since the end of the war five years to date, Draco's appearance in public has been very limited, despite minor trips to Hogsmeade in attendance with his parents, with whom he still lives. Nonetheless, Draco's nightmares have been causing him frequent black outs and hallucinations, as included in a required report from Elaine Galler, who remains otherwise unwilling to release much more information. After being attacked by madman Leroy Beevis on December 11th, Draco Malfoy's public appearances have completely vanished. However, he is still under the inconsistent care of therapist Galler._

_UPDATE: After further investigation and reports of his mental-status as reported by a reluctant Elaine Galler, Draco Malfoy has been recommended for admittance to Hobb's Institution for the mentally unstable."_

Though short and minute, Hermione's almost dropped the two and a half paragraph document to the floor below her. If her heart had been racing before, its speed had instantly doubled. Institutionalized? Her mind buzzed tirelessly with unwanted thoughts. She felt the need to both burst out in tears and toss the file across the room, perhaps light it bitterly on fire. However, echoing footsteps from the hallway forced her anger to subside momentarily. Hastily, she stuffed the file back into place and stood up, her feet now shaky and unsteady. Almost completely beside herself, Hermione waited for the noise to pass, raced towards the door, and clamored down the hall, quickly out of sight.


	9. No Good Deed

**Vonne: **WOW! I got SO MANY reviews for the last chapter. Even though it was mainly from one person (LivelyMcBrighten) reviewing every single chapter up to the point we're at now, I couldn't be more happy. Thank you all so very much and, as promised, I am submitting yet another chapter to all of you! I'm so serious about wanting to get caught up as soon as possible and it looks like all of you are wanting to get caught up as well. Thank you so much! I can't say that enough, apparently, but really, I am so flattered and amazed.

**LivelyMcBrighten: **First I wanted to start with you because of all eight reviews you submitted to me, making my inbox fill up like crazy. AH! Thank you so much! All your reviews weren't annoying at all. In fact, they made me excited about updating this for the people like you out there. I am so overwhelmed by all the feedback, I feel like I'm getting more of it this time around than from the first time around. So, with that being said, thank you so much! Anyway, your suspicions about Galler and Beevis could be right... I think you're someplace on the right track with either of the feelings you have in your gut. I mean, you've got a 50/50 chance either way you go, so after a while, tell me where you still stand. I'd be curious to see what you think about Beevis and Galler. I like keeping their "goodness/badness" a mystery until the very end.

**Linda:** I can't wait either, apparently. I've been updating these chapters like a crazy person.

**LeCandeh: **Oh, good! I'm glad you liked the last chapter. I was fond of the way it played out, but I'd always felt that it might be a boring one to read, so I'm glad that it wasn't.

**Kitty Meadow: **You don't have to tell me at this point, no. :) But I'm glad you do.

**Leroy Up: **Yes, sir! :)

**MCLanna: **Oh good! You and Psychic City both got the notification of this from your phones, huh? Looks like I need to get a more updated phone. My doesn't even go on the internet and I barely have text messaging. I guess that's what happens once you move out. HA!

**Carl: **Yeah, I was worried that it was too short, but this chapter is a long one I think, so that's always good news, isn't it?

**Psychic City: **Now it's YOUR turn to update, isn't it, girlie? :)

**

* * *

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**Chapter Eight:**  
**No Good Deed**

Two lonely and slumped figures sat in the large waiting room under the orange light above them. The figure to the right had maintained what was a considerable speck of perfect posture during the entire duration of his visit in the room. He'd sat with his back straight and his hands in his lap, only his eyes deviating from perfection as they watching his companion to his left. The other shadow, however, proved to be the exact opposite. Fidgeting with his fingers in his lap, he nervously glanced around the room and occasionally stopped twitching only in time to whip the trickling sweat off of the front of his face. Nonetheless, the calmer of the two slouched forward, nudged his friend feverishly, and proclaimed boldly, "straighten up. You've done this before. What's with you?"

The shaking man glanced upward, breathing out one long shaky sigh. With his face turned into the slight light, it was obvious that very much had been going on in his mind. However, despite his strangeness, the man smoothed back his blond mess of hair, stuffed his hands between his knees, and brought them forcefully together. Draco Malfoy was, all things considered, practically hysterical. "The last time I was here," he said, looking hastily over his shoulder, "I was attacked by a lunatic, Goyle, thank you very much."

Pressing his head to one side, Gregory Goyle considered the circumstances. "Okay," he said before readjusting his own figure on the seat, "and what are the chances that that's going to happen to you again?" Malfoy did not get Goyle's joke. Instead, he huffed miserably, took hold of his throbbing temples, and buried his face in the front of his palms. "This is good for you, Draco," Goyle continued, watching Malfoy closely, "you've just got to... to commit to it. Go every so often, put yourself out there a little. You're not the only messed up person in this world, you know."

Good for him? Draco scanned the room through the tiny slits in his separated fingers. Perhaps he, Draco, was looking at the situation from an entirely different perspective than Goyle. Still, all Malfoy could see was the massive waiting room that belonged to his therapist, Elaine Galler. Not in a million years would he have ever have imagined himself to end up in a therapist's office. He would have laughed if such an absurd thing would have been suggested to him. But now the situation was, after all, completely different. He was not the golden boy anymore. He was not his rich father's prize possession nor the chosen one for Lord Voldemort. He was only the left behind, the ex-Death Eater- he was seeing the walking corpse of the man he'd once feared more than anyone in the world. However, instead of focusing on the obvious, Malfoy managed to focus completely on Goyle who, if Draco wasn't mistaken, had just insulted him. "Oh," Malfoy said, with his face still pressed up harshly against his palms, "I am officially 'messed up' now, Goyle?"

Expression melting, Goyle rolled his eyes, contradicting Malfoy with a simple huff of, "don't be a prat, you know what I mean."

However, Draco wasn't entirely sure, truth be told. Sure, he'd acknowledged the fact that Goyle particularly did not consider him to be a complete madman- but Draco was not entirely convinced of it himself. With the previous night being the only peaceful night he'd had in a while, he was beginning to suspect that his time of misery was only just around the corner. But going back to Galler's office, he'd figured, was just another baby step forward, a fraction of a million little steps he'd have to take in the near future. And maybe his last visit had not gone quite ideally, but there was no sense in continually putting the therapy trips off. Because in the back of his mind he'd known that he'd truly needed them, Draco figured that waiting was only the more passive way of existing. Thus, he'd allow the woman to ask him what she'd wanted and he'd tell her whatever it was she'd wanted to know. As long as the nightmare would be just that much closer towards ending.

His progressive attitude did not, however, stop Goyle from voicing his approval towards the situation. Continually, the large man would lean in towards Draco and whisper words of encouragement before falling backwards again, only to return with something else later. True to his new reputation of Draco's own personal motivational speaker, Goyle scooted himself back towards Malfoy, nudged him lightly, and said, "besides, if you spend enough time around this place I'm sure you can meet someone nice. Perhaps a girl or two, huh?" Laughing teasingly, Goyle crossed his legs over one another, smiling to himself, "you sure as hell need other company besides me all the time."

"I've got other company," Malfoy contradicted, lifting his face out from his palms.

"What?" Goyle said again, looking back at his friend. The two had been sitting in the waiting room for quite some time and petty talk was the most they could opt for. "What? You mean Granger?"

Responsively, Draco slumped back down in his chair. "Yes," he said, "I meant Hermione." Nonetheless, he decided not to press the subject. Despite the fact that he'd known Goyle was only jokingly mocking him, he was not entirely comfortable with letting Goyle know the entire story of his relationship with Hermione. How funny the word 'relationship' sounded to him, even when spoken to himself through his thoughts. The idea of such a bond was almost incomprehensible and yet desirable all at once. For a moment Malfoy counted his blessings, though few they were, and wished he hadn't upset Hermione so recently.

But to Malfoy's appreciation Goyle had dropped the subject as well, taking the initiative to make himself comfortable and focus back on the door. Though the two weren't given much time to relax; just as Goyle found the strength to readjust himself, the office door broke open and Elaine Galler's tall shadow stood within the frame of it. "Hello, Draco," she said with a smile, though there was sympathy behind her soothing voice. Se turned her head curtly and nodded to Goyle before stepping aside and extending her arm into the darkness of her office. "Whenever you're ready," she said simply and stood there waiting, as if there truly was such an option. So, groggily, Malfoy took to a stance, walked past Galler and slunk within the dark shadows of her office.

"How have you been, Draco?" the woman asked him softly, and she seemed strongly concerned. As the door shut behind her, Malfoy could no longer see the outline of Goyle and the feeling of loneliness hit him rather hard.

But to Galler's rather obvious question, Draco Malfoy answered, "fine." And his answer wasn't exactly that much of a lie, considering that, despite his constant anxiety, he was doing fairly fine. He managed to keep the obvious stress out of his tone.

"Fine?" Elaine repeated, motioning for Draco to take his seat on her couch. She watched him sit down nervously and assumed her spot at her desk. "Okay," she continued finally, "fine is good then, isn't it? No more nightmares?"

Malfoy shrugged, saying honestly, "none that I remember."

Directly on time, Elaine's quill and paper rose into the air and Draco felt instantly embarrassed. Despite it being his third time in the woman's daunting office, Draco couldn't help but permit the rush of humiliation. "Draco," Galler said, for she'd said every time, "relax, Draco. Please, you're okay."

Laughing nervously, Malfoy ran a hand through his hair. Still, he managed to say bitterly, "well, considering the last time I was here..."

At once the hovering quill and paper froze. Motionless, they simply bobbed up and down by Galler's ear. As if she had been slightly put off by his last comment, she bit down hard on her bottom lip, concentration lines showing up darkly on her face. "Yes," she said timidly, breaking her gaze with him for a moment. She grabbed for the glasses on her face and held them softly in her hands, readjusting herself at her seat. "I'm very sorry about that, Mr. Malfoy," she said, "I had no idea that Leory Beevis was wandering around my office building and, if I had, I assure you... such an incident would have been avoided." Then, noticing Malfoy's silence, she added, "he's been brought back to the institution. He's... he's been put away for a long while."

"He's not well," Elaine continued, placing her glassed back up on the bridge of her nose. Moaning, Draco ran his hands back over his face and swung his shoulders forward. "Are you sure you're alright? You can tell me how you're feeling."

"I don't know how to explain it..." Malfoy said groggily. "I can't really..."

"Here." There was a slight squeak noise of Galler getting up from her seat. With his face in the front of his palms, Malfoy could hear her light little heels cross the carpet towards him. "If you don't mind, Draco, I'd like to know what you're thinking... do you mind if I use Legilimens?" The look about Elaine's face was hopeful, though Malfoy wasn't much for her optimism. In fact, he'd considered actually declining her request, but decided against doing so; in the long run, he really did want to do whatever it took to be deemed sane. Nonetheless, he swallowed his pride and leaned back, his shaky hands up on his chest, his eyes pressed shut for effect. And while Galler made no effort to be vocally gracious, she smiled sweetly and stepped slightly back. But with Galler whispering only slightly, Malfoy felt a slight pressure and then nothing.

* * *

_It was sometime five years ago, just before June when the weather had started to warm. In the basement with his head slightly lowered, Draco Malfoy sat in a slump against the back wall. A slender and attractive brunette had placed herself sloppily up against him, her hand on his trousers moving in little circles. However, she seemed not to notice the boy's obvious discomfort and was perhaps even further divulged in her cup full of yellow liquor. She fanned herself off, for the heat even in the night had finally started to get to her, and glanced up at Draco, who was not paying her much attention at all. Huffing, the pretty young girl glared messily at Crabbe, the large black lump in the corner, and said out loud, "alright, your turn."_

_The game that had been going back and forth was not much of a game as it was an attack. Pansy, with her hand on Malfoy's knee, asked the one question that had sent most of the group off in tangents of their own personal fantasies. "What," she would say, slowly as if the following question was perhaps the most sought after desire in the world, "do you want to do once we win the war?"_

_For the most part, the majority of answers had been fairly obvious; Pansy had wanted a large home and a plethora of emeralds. Blaize, who spoke in a quiet hush in the corner, perked up at his chance, saying determinedly that he'd wanted in on all of the Death-Eater's plans, straight off the bat. But since Pansy and Blaize had been only truly talking of dreams, for they had never actually been part of the Death-Eaters, it was only Goyle, Crabbe, and Malfoy's answers that really mattered. And with the war so close in their midsts, the three truly had been feeling the pressure. They shifted slightly in their own personal ways, nervous and anticipating quietly to themselves. When Crabbe heard Pansy mention his name, he stiffened and his eyes locked in straight with Malfoy's._

_"When the war is over," he said steadily, "I will see to it that all those against us will soon see their last day."_

_Pansy took a sip from her glass, her eyes shinning with the early effect of it already. "Meaning?" she asked, swallowing the remainder of its contents in one heart-felt gulp._

_"Meaning," Crabbe continued, "I can tell." His eyes remained locked in with Draco's, who could feel his heart beat thunderously in his skeleton. He could almost see the anxious little twitches in Crabbe's devilish little smile, "I can tell when people are really loyal or not."_

_In the corner opposite Crabbe, Goyle gave a slight little hiccup. He had been, perhaps, the most focused on his drink the entire night. Though, he'd stuck to saying almost nothing for the entire duration of the evening, he froze slightly, said with a shaky voice, "you mean," he asked meekly, sounding more like a mouse than a human, "you know? You just... know?"_

_There was not a single flinch in the daunting figure of Vincent Crabbe, whose fat little body was dressed in a proper black coat. His short hair was slightly slicked back and he smelled nice for the calm little evening. Despite the fact that Malfoy had not seen him in months, he couldn't help but notice the ample cluster of lines on his chubby face. They ran across the bulk of his skin, adding stress to his already perplexed complexion. Had he truly aged so noticeably? For a boy of only seventeen, it seemed almost entirely impossible and yet, obvious. But with Crabbe's eyes locked fiercely into Draco's, the boy, who looked so old, said to Goyle's question, "I can tell." Snarling slightly, his mouth twitched upward, back into his almost infamous cocky smile, "I can just see it in their eyes."_

Though he was under, Malfoy could feel the pull of something harsh at the back of his mind. He felt the surge of nausea rush vibrantly through his body and he tried desperately to lunge forward. His efforts, however, proved unsuccessful. There was a twist in the pit of his sick stomach and he could feel his eyes roll back farther in his head, unwillingly. He gagged slightly and, through his despair, the scene morphed instantly around him.

The image of the basement rushed by him like a speeding train, loose on its tracks. The faces of both Pansy and Goyle melted away from him, as if caught up in a brilliant fire. Crabbe's face, however, remained ever so slightly present, his eyes burning into Draco's unconscious vision harshly. Even as the shadows took away almost every one of his physical features, it was Goyle's eyes that remained ever so piercingly present.

Pansy and the basement disappeared completely and Draco's vision of himself against the wall faded away in the oncoming black mist. His haziness seemed inevitable, taking over his focus entirely, blending in with every one of his visual surroundings. There was no more sparkling liquor, no more weight of Pansy in his lap. Her hand seemed to slip away from his knee, as if she were being dragged. And finally, when the scene was no more, Draco Malfoy could only see Crabbe's golden eyes.

Then a new shade of blackness set in, thrusting Draco into someplace new. Crabbe's eyes twinkled before Malfoy's vision once more and he wondered if he could tell. But before they could strike him all-knowingly, they sparkled for one last time, forming instantly into two white stars that took place in the night of the brand new scene.

_"It's so close," said a single voice over the rush of the wind. "The war. It's so close, I can almost feel it."_

_Such a statement was, in fact, one of the few that could cause the same chill to run up every one of the __midnight__ walker's slouchy spines. Shaking themselves off from such a dauntingly horrifying thought, the three men paused, thinking silently to themselves cautiously. It was sometime around twelve in the morning and the night sky was as dark as physically possible. Above the three shadows, the stars shone bright, white through the blackness of the tree tops._

_They had been digging for quite some time, and Draco scanned the new vision around him. He remembered this moment, this scene in which he'd hoped to have forgotten. The moment was, however, strange to begin with and he, Crabbe, and Goyle had been standing in the clearing of the woods, digging a single deep hole in the muddy ground. Tired and exhausted, they been woken from their sleeps and given an order that they couldn't refuse. And though their meeting in the woods had been almost anything but typical, neither of the three opted to protest; nonetheless, they'd met each other in their pajamas at the last step of the Malfoy Manor, spotted the discarded corpse at the end of the living room floor, and found the three shovels perched up against the elegant wallpaper._

_Malfoy had felt a twist in his nauseous stomach and out of the corner of his eye he could see that Goyle's face had drained of any visible color. At Gregory's other side, Crabbe had not even flinched. Nonetheless, they'd been shoved forcefully out of the mansion, each of their grips tight on their wands; and the floating body bobbed up by their ears, a fourth shadowy figure in their night. They'd said not a single word to one another as they stalked through the clustered trees, just barely managing to keep a steady pace through the brush. Draco could hear Goyle mutter nonsense to himself, a thick sweat pouring from the top of his head. As Draco squeezed his eyes shut, he unsuccessfully willed the scene away._

_But once they'd reached the clearing, there was no turning back. Crabbe waved his wand around conclusively and the body fell from the sky with a flop, landing just before the seventeen year old Goyle, who stumbled back with a slight gasp. But Malfoy kept his eyes pressed shut, unwilling to look at the bruised and purple body before him. He could smell the rancid stench before him achingly and behind his tight eyelids, he could even still see Crabbe's shadow slip instantly into action._

_"Well," Crabbe said, shoving his foot under the body of the disgusting corpse, "they sure did a number on this one, didn't they?" Draco's arms were plastered to his side and he avoided eye contact with the dead figure altogether. He could hear Goyle stammer slightly, as if trying to suddenly decide upon something suitable to say. Nonetheless, Crabbe seemed to be having a hay day. The meek worries that had obtained him back at the manor had vanished; alone without the presence of the other Death-Eaters, he was as confident as ever. He tossed his fat little head back, his mouth open wide, enjoying the moment in general, "well," he said encouragingly, "look at her!"_

_Neither Goyle or Draco managed to oblige. Malfoy hadn't been able to focus on anything else but Goyle, for that matter. The boy had been fidgeting ever since he'd been woken up for the night. However, Malfoy knew that the body burying had been a new thing for Goyle. It was something that he, Draco, had been ordered to do quite often and, while he'd been eventually able to do the job without much of an episode, it never got any easier. He knew immensely how Goyle had felt at that very moment, sick and fretting and horrified; he knew and he did nothing to ease his terror. Instead, he stood like a statue, gripping his wand and his shovel so tight that his knuckles turned a ghostly shade of glowering white._

_"Goyle!" Crabbe shouted, perhaps a bit too amused by his friend's nervousness, "Goyle, look at this! Look, she's hardly got any teeth left in her!" With that, Crabbe advanced forward, seizing Gregory Goyle by his thick shoulders and swinging him forward. However, at the sight of the mangled body, Goyle's body slopped forward, his face turning a slight shade of sickening green. But Crabbe was instantly amused; as Goyle gripped his stomach forcefully, he raised a large fist and smacked Goyle's arched back. His yellow teeth seemed almost visionary in the lack of light. "Oh, come off it, mate!" he howled, a yell mixed with excitement and anger alike, "she's just a Muggle!"_

_Choking, Goyle blinked out the tears from his red eyes. He looked up at Malfoy, whose eyes were pressed shut, who hadn't move a single inch from his frozen spot in the soil. "It's," Goyle coughed, lifting his sausage fingers to wipe away at his eyes, "i-it's j-just t-the smell! It... it smells like it's been dead for w-w-weeks!"_

_Shrugging, Crabbe let the body flop back down on the mud. "Maybe she has been," he said simply, "it doesn't matter now, though, now does it?" Crabbe was wiping away tears of his own, though he felt not an ounce of sympathy for the young girl on the ground before him. He watched Goyle stagger to a more stiff posture and readjust himself. With shaky hands, he smoothed out his shirt and sniffed slightly. With Crabbe's eyes watching him, all he could do was act the part that he was expected to. Still, Crabbe did not seem to notice Goyle's burial jitters. He ran a massive hand through his hair and smiled loosely. "About time, too," he continued, "the more of these dead Muggles, the better off we are."_

_Goyle straightened himself up. He glanced back at Draco and said aloud, "c-can we j-just get this over with?"_

_"What's the hurry?" Crabbe snapped, narrowing his eyes suspiciously._

_An icy chill ran down Goyle's spine. "No hurry," he said defensively, "I'm tired, mate. I haven't slept in... in days."_

_For a moment, Crabbe seemed to consider this bitterly. However, once he'd managed to digest Goyle's suggestion, his anger seemed to instantly subside. Lunging forward to his shovel, Crabbe thrust the tip of it into the ground and planted his foot on top of the metal. Grunting, he started the first dig, tossing aside the brown dirt with a quick motion. Gulping, Goyle took instant note of his aggressiveness and watched from a distance, his palms sweaty on his own shovel handle. "Anyway," Goyle was saying as he plunged the shovel into the ground for a second time, "like I was saying before... I can feel it. This war... this war is just around the corner. It's going to happen before the Wizarding World can even anticipate it."_

_Nearest Malfoy, Goyle slowly started forward. "You mean," he asked as he lifted his shovel, trying to put on the same strength as Crabbe, "you really think that it's that close?"_

_"I know it is!" Crabbe snapped, his eyes watching the hole as it deepened below him. "There's no question about it. Besides," he added, his voice lowering with extreme secrecy, "I've heard the others talking at night. I've even heard your dad, Draco." A smart smile spread across Crabbe's red face, "he talks about it a lot." Despite the desire to lunge at Crabbe, Draco swallowed his pride and started forward, plunging his shovel into the ground with a new fit of harsh aggression. He looked up warningly at Crabbe and then shot his eyes back down, forcing the cluster of dirt away over his ankle with a rush of extreme bitterness._

_But Crabbe's smile did not drift. "Aw," he said mockingly, "what was that, Draco? What's the matter, hm? Daddy issues?"_

_Malfoy didn't move a muscle. His eyes back on the hole in the ground, he could feel his pulse speed up. The redness behind his otherwise pale face took on an instant shade of bitterness. But Goyle was far too smart to not notice such an exchange. He paused in his digging and offered lightly, "come on, mate. You know Draco hasn't slept in..."_

_"Bullshit, Goyle!" Crabbe hissed, leaning back from the spot harshly. How funny it was to see Crabbe's mood shift so suddenly. He seemed to have forgotten all about his joy and, simply shrugging it off, he managed to regain a more hostile aroma. "Draco spends more time unconscious then the lot of us and you know it! Ever since he bailed on that whole Dumbledore deal... the Death-Eaters have made quite sure of that. I, for one, think it's better that way. You say some critical things in your sleep, you know, Draco."_

_The rush of anxiety rose through Mafoy instantly. He could feel the numbness swell through his body and he resisted the urge to spit harshly in Crabbe's chubby face. But Goyle seemed almost all too aware. He shoved himself further into the circle the three had made and thrust aside the an excessive amount of dirt forcefully. He avoided Crabbe's eyesight completely, not feeling confident enough to say a single word. Still, the sound of the scraping dirt seemed to imply that the silence was necessary and, to Goyle's amazement, Crabbe slunk back with a steamed grumble._

_Under the white moonlight, the three boys took back to their constant scraping. And as the moments dragged on, the hole grew deeper and deeper. But Malfoy could feel the oncoming stress. As he dug, the soreness seemed to dwell deep into his muscles. His heart thudded with horrible aggression. In the back of his mind he knew what these symptoms were; a collective list of pain that he'd managed to acquire after an ample amount of Cruciatus Curses. And he was sure that the awful pain was going to last for the rest of his life, something he still hadn't quite come to terms with._

_Aching as the first hour passed by, Malfoy's head remained pitched down, his teeth grinding against one another stressfully. A cold sweat dribbled down from the top of his forehead, making his blond hair greasy with the passing time. Hot flashes blinding his otherwise hazy vision._

_"Shit!" Crabbe grumbled as he pushed himself back away from he now deep hole. The smile he'd worn before was once against prominent on his face. "Finally!" Conclusively, he pressed his back against the tree trunk behind him, the handle of his shovel positioned just underneath his chin. He looked down at the body at the floor, slumped to the ground floppily and rest his skull backwards. He seemed almost as proud of the hole as he did with the Death Eaters for their work on the dead girl beside him. Pink in the cheeks, his glassy eyes watched Goyle as he moved back next, smiling with eagerness; he was almost perhaps too excited to get back to bed. However, staggeringly, Goyle fumbled back towards a new close by tree, breathed out, and slumped down to the floor, as well._

_He didn't say it out loud, but Goyle's face was glowing with relief. Their digging had finally come to an end._

_But Draco could hardly find enough strength to even fall backward. He could feel the boiling tension fill up in his aching chest. Something knotted in his stomach and he could sense he oncoming rise of bile clog his dry throat. But Goyle looked up just in time, his relief draining at once. "Draco?" he asked quiveringly, "Draco? What's going on?"_

_Malfoy shook his head, his blond hair falling past his clammy forehead. "'M fine," he said, lifting his hand from his stomach._

_Though Goyle did not take Malfoy's blatant lie for an answer. Instead, he whisked himself up from the ground, his arms outstretched. Tired, he stumbled towards Draco and took the shovel out from his grip. "Hey," he said, turning back to Crabbe, "hey... something's wrong!"_

_"Nothing's wrong with him!" Crabbe shouted, though he pushed himself up again. "Oy! Draco, decide you can't handle..."_

_"Crabbe," Goyle cried out, his face flushing heatedly, "seriously, I don't think... hey! Draco hold still!" Malfoy slumped away from Goyle's grip submissively, shaking his head as if to feign away his soreness. However, he staggered away from the hole and took over a new tree, leaning against it as if he'd just run an entire mile._

_Crabbe was up in hysterics. "See!" he roared, thrusting out a finger, "he's fine, Goyle. Just because he can't handle such a job doesn't mean you have to get all worried." He started for the girl's body, lifting her up from the ground with such disrespect that her head lulled forcefully to one side. His smile widened at the dead girl's expression and he cocked his head towards her thin and limp little corpse. "Come on, Goyle, let's burry her."_

_This was the moment. With Draco up against the tree trunk, Goyle seemed to realize that he was all alone on this one. A new wind of uneasiness swam through him. He fumbled with his sweaty fingers, wiped them messily on his pajama pants. "I-I d-don't think..."_

_"No one's asking you to think!" Crabbe hissed, looking up at Goyle with just his eyes. His large head did not move and two two yellow globes seemed to force Goyle to freeze unwillingly on the spot. But when Goyle did not move a muscle, he turned back to the girl, thrusting his foot once again underneath her limp chin. "What?" he said, tossing his hands outwards, "what? Is it this? This body? Is that what you're scared of?" He then took a knee, taking hold of the girl's cheeks with his grimy fingers. "She doesn't look to harmful to me, Goyle."_

_Draco looked up despite the swollen feeling in his skull. Something invisible seemed to stab him in his stomach and still he looked down at the girl, a swell of immense sympathy sweeping through his body. He wanted to rip Crabbe's head square off of his thick shoulders. As Crabbe took hold of the dead girl's pale face, he seemed to enjoy watching her expression morph ever so slightly. "See?" he exclaimed, still looking at Goyle, "she's dead!"_

_From his spot against the tree, Malfoy choked through clenched teeth, "stop toying with her and get on with it!"_

_His hands still holding the girl's jaw, Crabbe's head snapped up. "Oh!" he said defensively, "getting a little soft, are we, Draco?" His fingers loosened around the girl's face and her head fell lifelessly backward, colliding to the ground with a harsh thud._

_"I said, 'get on with it!'" Malfoy hissed._

_For the first time in the night, Crabee had been knocked off his high horse. He titled his head to one side and readjusted himself, straightening out his jaw. "I don't give a damn what you said, Draco. Your word is no longer my priority!" And to Goyle's horror, Crabbe was advancing himself forward. His hand held the end of the big shovel tightly. "You see, once this war is said and done with, only the most loyal will survive." With a shrug, he added, "I'm not sure what happens to the others, but I can assure you, Draco, it won't be pretty. But I can tell you one thing... you and your father... the two of you should sleep with one eye open."_

_Malfoy pushed himself up from his spot against the tree. The pain in his side grew stronger, but his sight was set on Crabbe and Crabbe alone. "Don't you dare talk about my father-" he started, but stopped, raising his wand threateningly._

_"What are you going to do, Draco, huh?" Crabbe laughed, "couldn't even kill Dumbledore! You'd be lucky if you-" But Malfoy slashed his wand more harshly than even Goyle could have anticipated. In an instant, Crabbe was thrust from the ground, his wand flying out from his grip. Crabbe's body flew from the brush and came to the tree trunk with a harsh aggression. But Draco was breating aggressively, his chest rising up and down with a mixture of both bitterness and anxiety. Momentarily, Crabbe sat in silence, almost too stunned to move a single muscle. He blinked, dumbfounded, touching his lip and feeling the blood trickle out of his newly split lip. Then, he stumbled forward. He did not have a wand, but he found his shovel in an instant. "You son of a bitch!" he cried, swinging the shovel in front of him and just about missing the girl in the process._

_And his swinging came to good use, too. The first swipe of his shovel across the air came in to Draco's side with full force. Nonetheless, Malfoy managed to throw himself forward, ignoring Goyle at his side, who shouted against their fighting. But both Crabbe and Malfoy were far too enveloped in their anger. Malfoy lifted his wand again, but his shot missed Crabbe's figure by merely inches. It was Crabbe, however, who seemed to have the last say in the argument. He lifted his meaty arms and swung the metal shovel across the dark sky and the end of it slammed hard into the side of Malfoy's skull._

_Draco's body flopped forward unquestionably. The flop of his slender figure came almost too instantly, landing lifelessly next to the girl and a new trail of crimson blood trailed out through the corner of his blond head. Heaving, Crabbe's shoulders mounded up and down, his outline rising and falling in the nighttime. As the dark scene drew away, he could hear Goyle yell out, lingering just along at the moment to see Goyle flop down beside his friend. And Draco could feel the rush coming on again, the intense pull of the horribly fading memory._

_

* * *

_

Malfoy's eyes snapped open with a harsh wind of terror. His breath sputtered out from his lung as if he'd spent hours under water. The room around him was dark and black and the twisting feeling in the pit of his horribly nauseous stomach was just beginning to subside. He blinked rapidly in the darkness, flinging his body forward and gripping his stomach tightly. But new hands were on him and Galler's voice was saying over and over, "Draco, Draco! Please, you're alright! You're okay, please!"

She was right. Back in Galler's dimly lit office, Draco could see that the moment he'd relived was only a memory, a moment in the past that could no longer harm him. Though his breathing did not soften and his body did not stop shaking. All the while, Galler's hands smoothed back Draco's hair. She pulled her wand up from the ground and lunged forwards to bring towards him the glass of clear water. She made quick aggression for the hovering thing and held it out towards Malfoy pleadingly, though Draco did not take the drink.

"You're alright," she told him again, watching his chest slow. His hyperactive breaths made Galler almost exceedingly nervous.

But Malfoy swallowed, his eyes glassy with tears. "I don't feel well," he told her, ill.

"That's normal," Elaine assured him, looking horrified as Malfoy yanked himself back up from the couch. His hands fidgeted with his tie and his face was red. "Draco, please, you shouldn't be-"

Though Malfoy was loosing her inevitably. His mind was rather elsewhere and all he could think of was Vincent Crabbe. Vincent Crabbe, the boy he'd grown up with, the boy he'd known his entire life. Vincent Crabbe, holding a massive shovel and squeezing the dead girl's rotting and pale face. What had happened to them? What had happened? "I've got to go," he told the woman, making sharply towards his coat and pulling it back on his shoulders. Shaking, he felt the radio in his pocket, a reminder of a safety blanket he had at all times.

Galler's face drained. "Please, Draco," she begged, "have some water. Rest a little. You shouldn't be up and walking around so quickly!" But there was nothing she could say that would change Malfoy's set mind. He stumbled by her, thanking her sickly for the session, and promised to be back. Still, he grabbed for the door anxiously and stumbled out of her office, his hands back on the radio, twisting the knob of the speaker quick with whole-hearted desperation.

And despite the reminder of the memories he'd once lived, he stumbled out of the building and tried to forget.


	10. Vice

**Vonne:** Thanks for all the fast reviews, of course. I've been so happy with all this feedback that I'm getting, even though everyone has for the most part, read these before. I am trying so hard to get back up to chapter nineteen or twenty, depending on how you look at chapter one's prologue. I'm in a bit of a hurry, though, at the moment, and I will definitely do all the reviewer responses in the next updated chapter. As for now, however, I would like to personally thank all of you. So, thank you so much **Kitty Meadow, Carl, LivelyMcBrighten, McLanna, LECandeh, Leroy UP, Psychic City, **and** Doni**.

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**Chapter Nine:**  
**Vice**

Through the trees of the emerald tinted forest, the voice of Hermione Granger echoed out from the speakers of Draco Malfoy's tiny toy radio. Concerned, she told Malfoy to calm down, though her efforts were going rather overlooked. Draco's hands were balled into two tight fists at his slender sides and he blinked out the raging migraine that pounded behind his throbbing skull. Over the past hour, he'd managed to walk the streets of Hogsmeade back into the woods, the last memory of his afternoon at Elaine Galler's just beginning to fade. And though he wasn't paying Hermione's advice much attention, it was her voice that he'd needed to hear. In calm and soothing tones, he was perhaps a bit too surprised to find that he was beginning to think more clearly.

"Draco, where are you?" Hermione asked again, once she'd realized that she was more or less babbling to herself. Still, the worry in her voice did not subside and she seemed to have been gripping to her own radio with an intense hold.

Malfoy looked around. Where was he? The correct answer was that he was somewhere between an immensely sharp rock and a hard place. Wasn't it enough that he was loosing his bloody mind? Laughing to himself, he pitied his blatant stupidity. Red in the face, he stopped feverishly in his tracks and surveyed the tree-clustered place. It was freezing out and the snow fell from the sky like weightless little flakes. A cold chill ran up his spine, but it wasn't from the winter weather. The cause of it, however, was blatantly obvious; Vincent Crabbe's last months on earth had been haunting Draco Malfoy ever since. Crabbe had never been as drawn into the Death Eaters as he had in those final months. But the daunting aspect was not, after all, about Crabbe and his morphing persona. What caused Malfoy to be almost physically sick was that, five years later, he could see all three of them change for the worse.

And why did it have to be Crabbe that had died in the end? It could have very well been he, Draco, or Goyle, as well. As the green forest came to a relaxing spin around him, he realized that, despite his previous thoughts, he was not all that lucky. "Draco!" Hermione said again, disrupting his thoughts of regret, "Draco, where are you?"

Hermione's voice did its job; the world stopped spinning hectically and Draco found a steady enough voice to say, "I'm heading home."

Conclusively, he begun to advance forward again, moving his feet slowly, but with as much conviction as he could. There was a slight slump in his posture and, plunging his left hand into his pocket, he sighed finally. Nonetheless, Hermione's persistence rang through his radio speakers. She had not given up her persistence to hear from him again. "Heading home?" she asked timidly, "from where?"

"Ms. Galler's office," Draco admitted, swallowing slightly. What a strange feeling it was to be so open with Hermione Granger. Surely, he'd never thought he'd see the day. However, such vulnerability seemed almost inevitable and, more or less, she was beginning to become the most prominent of all his vices.

However, as he stood still considering Hermione and his own weaknesses, he could just about hear the oncoming slither of Nagani. "No," he told himself quietly so Hermione would not hear, "not now." Though his faltering mind did not pity his nervous conscious and every single tree around him seemed to lean in furiously closer. Stumbling, Malfoy's back found the nearest tree trunk and he freed his hand from his pocket, gripping his head achingly. The tiny radio clattered to the grass, and Malfoy held his breath, curling down within himself. And then Voldemort's voice bounced off of every wooden tree branch as the slithering snake ran through the brown brush.

"Galler's?" Hermione seemed completely befuddled. Her voice that echoed from the ground shot up back at Malfoy, who glanced at it only through the cracks in his fingers. Behind the radio speakers, Hermione remained none the wiser. Still listening to Draco's last bit of information about Galler's office, she continued, "you went to a therapy session again? With Elaine Galler? I... Draco, I don't..." Momentarily, Hermione seemed unable to spit out whatever it was that she was trying to say. However, she breathed out, her breath loud and croaky through the speakers, and started over. "Draco," she said softly, though her voice still was tinted with concern, "Draco, I have to talk to you."

But with both Hermione and Voldemort whispering in his ears, Draco wasn't able to pay her much attention. But he managed to inch forward, swinging his hand to grab again for the previously discarded radio. "Hermione," he said chokingly, "I've got to... I'll talk to you later, okay? I'm sorry, but now is not a good time." And with that, he twisted off the radio and thrust the thing back into the pocket of his coat.

* * *

With his back against the mattress, Draco Malfoy was staring an imaginary hole into the top of the ceiling. He's wrapped his hands around his head, crossed them at the elbows and rubbed his temples with his fingers. The voices in his mind, they'd finally started to subside. But it was the pestering illness at the pit of his stomach that had him perplexed. The voices had stopped and the sickness remained and still, in his bedroom, he felt the room spin. And perhaps it would have kept on spinning if the knock on the door hadn't suddenly stopped it.

"Draco," said Pansy through the cracks of the wall frame; Malfoy's eyes snapped suddenly open. "Draco," she continued again despite Malfoy's raging headache, "open up." Through the bottom of the door, he could just see her extended black shadow as it reached the edge of his bedskirt. The one thought that entered his mind was: how in the hell did she get in his house? Neither his father nor his mother had been home- Draco was almost positive they were still having a fuss with the Ministry- and he was pretty certain he'd locked the doors in preparation for such unwanted visitors. Hadn't he? Sighing at his ignorance, Draco considered the fact that such a thing may have slipped from his already faltering mind.

The shadow on the floorboards shifted and Pansy said impatiently, "are you asleep in there? Still? You've been sleeping for four hours now!"

Malfoy's expression twisted. "Four hours?" he asked in disbelief, "Pansy, how long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to get your attention!" Pansy quipped back, excited to have received any sort of communication from him at all. "I made you breakfast. It's getting all cold."

Half-heartedly Malfoy slumped out of his mattress. He stumbled across the room, tripping over the remaining mess on the floor, and made past the mirror. But he had to stop at the sight of his mangled reflection. Across his pale face was the image of dried spit and the circumference of his eye was covered in a purple bruise. The blond mop on the top of his head was sticking out in all different directions and the white shirt sat crooked on his shoulder, buttoned in their wrong slits. Groggily, he scooted away from the glass, moaning miserably. It wasn't as if he'd come to expect anything else, but it wasn't as if he hadn't hoped. "Ah!" he said as he pulled open the door, glancing down at the rancid-looking eggs, "Pansy."

Pansy shifted her weight from her opposite side. "You do realize it is three in the afternoon, don't you?"

"I've been out." Draco suggested. But Pansy walked past him without a second glance. Still, she glanced around the room, disgusted, and flopped down on his mattress greedily. "How..." Malfoy started, watching her with a befuddled expression, "how did you get in here?"

"Front door," Pansy said innocently, "you left it unlocked, Draco. Not very smart, you know." Conclusively, Pansy dug into her green clutch. Her long slender fingers pried around the thing until she brought out a tiny little powder mirror. She flipped the thing open and gazed into the glass, delighted. Making a quick sultry face at herself, she drew out a long stick of lipgloss and ran it over her thin lips excessively. Finally, she rubbed her upper and lower lips together and smoothed back her dark hair with the front of her palm. When she'd finished, she looked up from her own image and said slowly, "dangerous people could break in."

Feeling rather uncomfortable, Malfoy mumbled, "go figure."

"Now," Pansy mused, shutting the mirror once and for all and shoving it back into her clutch, "come and eat. You look like hell." The smile etched on Pansy's face was, all things admitted, rather lovely. She seemed to have expected their breakfast to be a rather pleasant one. Of course, Pansy had always overestimated herself. Besides, the only thing that Draco could think about was Hermione. Hermione Jean Granger. He'd only just finished talking to her hours ago and, even hearing other voices, it seemed that he had not quite gotten his fix of her yet. She hadn't given up on him, despite his craziness. He couldn't help himself but, even while watching Pansy, he smiled at the thought of Hermione at the end of the silly toy radio.

And what was happening to him, anyways? Other than the hearing voices and seeing dead men, Draco Malfoy was pretty sure that something else was different about him. It wasn't as if he was entirely happy but, for the time being, he was satisfied, even if just slightly. Hermione was, shockingly, the one factor that seemed to steady him. In the moments that he'd felt almost bitterly and completely insane, she was there to offer him the counter curse.

Crossing her legs over one another, Pansy leaned back slightly. "Come on, Draco. I made eggs, your favorite." Wrong. He hated eggs. Perhaps he was insane, perhaps he was completely mad; any man in their right mind would have jumped at a chance to share a breakfast with Pansy Parkinson, even if it was including a plate full of eggs. And, by God, she did look pretty. But Draco was almost completely undrawn to her. Her attractive face melted and her eyes went slightly cross. Placing her hands on her hips, she tilted her head to one side and said harshly, "well, don't just stand there. I went to all this trouble."

"Pansy," Malfoy began, his eyes shifting towards the window. "Pansy, I..."

Her lips pursed together. "You?" she asked testily, her eyes narrowing like a scolding mother.

More and more Hermione Granger's presence seemed to draw him in. The idea of her seemed almost tempting and dangerous all at the same time and Draco's eyes were locked on the open window. "I..." he stammered, quite frankly unsure as to where it was he was going with his sentence. He really had almost not a clue in the world. "I..."

Then, he saw it. The broom that was pitched upwards in the bedroom corner had gone almost completely unused for years since the end of the war. Looking at it, Draco could hardly believe he'd still possessed the thing. But now it seemed almost completely relevant. He slowly made his way towards the broomstick, ignoring Pansy as her eyes followed him curiously. Then, he picked it up off of the floor, the handle of it feeling completely dusty on his fingers. Pansy leaned forward, looking rather bitter. "What are you doing?" she asked hastily, pushing aside the plate of awful eggs.

But even Draco didn't quite know. Nonetheless, he made for his coat and dragged it over himself anxiously. With feeble fingers he buttoned up the black peacoat and slipped two of the first socks he could find over his freezing feet. "I'm going out," he informed her mindlessly, slightly mumbling. As he pulled a pair of dark shoes over his feet, he lunged for the radio and stuffed it willingly into his pocket before Pansy could bother to notice.

Blinking, Pansy's mouth dropped slightly open. "Out?" she asked, shocked, "what do you mean 'you're going out?'"

Malfoy's hair fell slightly over his forehead. The bruise on his eye looked almost completely horrifying on his pallor skin. Still, he felt a slight rush at the thought of getting out- getting out and not going to Elaine Galler's office. Draco laughed slightly to himself and shook his head from side to side. He said, amused, "I don't know."

"You... you don't _know_ where you're going?" Pansy started, whipping up from the bed completely. The eggs shook and almost flipped onto the floor entirely. Though the mess would have only added to the disaster on the ground, she did not seem to mind much about the possibility of such a mistake. "Draco, what is the matter with you?"

"Air," Malfoy suggest, shrugging back at her. He made his way quickly towards the edge of the window, sitting at the end of it with his long legs over the edge. "I just need a little air."

Pansy's brow furrowed. _"Air?"_ she asked, as if she'd never heard of a thing so ridiculous in her entire life. "What the hell..."

Broom in hand, Draco bounded off of the window ledge with a slight push. Stumbling only slightly, he leaned onto the large tree branch and stared down at the grass below him. Even with a questionable mindset, the drop was truthfully a steep one. "Draco!" Pansy called out again, her hair waving around her face and messing up any style she had previously given to it. The tip of her nose, it was growing redder by the second. "Oy! What is wrong with you? Have you been drinking?"

Blatantly ignoring her, Draco balanced himself at the narrow tree branch. No, he hadn't been drinking. Truth of the matter was, he hadn't had a single drink in a matter of weeks. And, funnily enough, he hadn't even slightly desired one. He glanced down at the view below and glanced down at his broomstick. Was it true that if he hadn't rode it in a long time that he'd somehow forget? He guessed that there was only one significant way to find out.

Pansy gripped the ledge, blinking frustratedly, "You're drunk!" she accused without a true basis. "Draco, you're drunk. You're... you're not thinking straight. You should get some rest... eat something! C-Come back inside, you're going to hurt yourself." Malfoy considered his choices. It was between hurting himself, seeing Hermione, or spending an entire evening listening to Pansy Parkinson talk about herself for hours on end. Quickly, he decided he'd rather fall ten feet to the backyard below. Now all he had to do was jump.

Draco pressed his sore eyes shut and breathed in the chilly air around him. Behind his closed eyelids, the snowy weather had transformed into a dark, black sheet of nothingness. Five years. Five years and he hadn't rode a broomstick. Five years he'd been living with his feet planted completely on solid ground. He didn't care about Pansy yelling at him from the window, didn't care about the freezing weather and the fact that he'd not brought a pair of gloves or a warm scarf. He may of been completely underdressed and shaking like a leaf, but it was now or never. Now, or sit around with Pansy in his locked bedroom. Even though he couldn't quite pin-point the exact relationship he'd had with Hermione in the first place, he couldn't think of another person in the world he'd rather see at that very moment. The misty view of his own white breath twirled around the front of his face and made his eyes sting. He thought, 'just go for it', and then obliged.

There was a long moment where he sat with his eyes closed, thinking that he hadn't made it. However, the horrified screams of Pansy at his window forced his eyes to yank themselves back open. He saw the ground underneath him, whisking by below him much faster than he'd even remembered. A meek little laugh escaped from his throat and, blinking in blatant disbelief, he pushed his hair out of his face mindlessly. And the image of Pansy at his bedroom window quickly faded out from behind him, the sound of her voice blending in with the rushing air that ran by at his ears. It was a thrill he'd never expected to have gained back in a million years, a rush that reminded him of Quidditch and Hogwarts and worry-free afternoons. Knuckles growing white as they gripped the neck of the broom greedily, Malfoy couldn't help but dive down lower into the woods back behind his house with a permanent smile.

He then released one of his hands from the circumference of the handle and he took only a quick moment to steady himself upon it. He plunged his hands into his coat pocket and pulled out the radio, twisting the knob until he heard the sound of messy static. "'Mione?" he yelled into it over the sound of the whooshing air. "You there?"

It did not even take a single moment for Hermione's voice to sound back to him through the speakers. "Draco?" Hermione asked, "where are you?"

Laughing, Malfoy glanced down and shrugged. He took a wild guess, "about fifty feet in the air."

"Don't jump!" Hermione yelled, squeaking in a raspy tone.

But Malfoy couldn't help him. Perhaps he should have been worried that Hermione's first conclusion involved his suicide, but at the moment almost nothing seemed to have bothered him. He watched the green grass whisk along the ground underneath him and the tops of the trees blend together mindlessly. "Alright, I won't," he told her jokingly, amused at the relieved sigh he head her breath at the other end.

Hermione inhaled and exhaled rapidly. Composing herself, she breathed, "if you're done fooling around... I've got to talk to you."

However, Malfoy ignored the urgency in Hermione's voice. "What are you doing?" he asked again, perhaps enjoying the scenery too much.

"Doing?" Hermione blinked, "I... I'm looking over some files. Draco, what-"

Malfoy laughed. "Is anyone home?" he asked relentlessly.

And still, Hermione seemed rather completely lost. "No..." she said deliriously.

She wasn't lying; he could tell. From his view in the air he could see the rooftop of her house appearing almost completely empty. And there she was in the window, standing with her back towards him and her hands holding the small radio. He directed the broom quickly towards the ground and stopped it just before the ground. As the thing hovered there restlessly, he glanced around and leaned back into the toy' speakers. "Go outside," he instructed and watched Hermione's shadow spin around. She made hastily towards the door and, within moments, pulled it open with a whole-hearted aggression.

Dressed in an overly large beige sweater and a pair of tainted black trousers, Hermione still looked striking. Nonetheless, her eyes narrowed and her mouth fell open at the sight of Draco floating there. "Draco," she said slowly, lowering the radio to her side curiously, "what the hell."

"Come on," Malfoy said back, and he cocked his head towards the empty spot at the back of the broomstick, "I want to show you something." Hermione's eyes locked in on him and for a moment she looked completely uneasy. However, her steady posture slowly took to softening. She glanced around timidly and then looked back at Draco with a raised brow. Sighing, Malfoy lowered his head. He leaned towards her and extended his pale hand. With that, he asked, "do you trust me?"

Hermione's eyes glanced back at the house, back at the shut door where, behind it, Draco's files sat waiting. She needed to talk to him; she needed to tell him everything she'd found out because that was what she'd _needed _to do. But as she stared back at Malfoy, watched his otherwise cold gray eyes light up so noticeably... it was something so miraculous. He'd looked about fifteen, looked as if he were about to go and play a Quidditch game. She couldn't spoil it, wanted almost to savor it completely. Even covered in bruises, it seemed that he was offering her something that she couldn't possibly refuse.

Almost completely wrapped up in the split second of Draco's happiness, she found herself saying, "of course I trust you." And finally she stepped towards the broom wand and gripped the handle. Jumping onto the stick uneasily, she smiled at the sight of Draco's smile. But they were off before she could say another word and her arms flung desperately around his slender waist, slapping him gently as he laughed amusedly at her. "Prat," she quipped.

But Hermione had to catch her breath as they soared through the air restlessly. Draco was having a bit too much fun with it and, worry-free, he dove down lower into the brush, dodging the tree branches. "You okay back there?" he asked her, still chuckling at her as her grip tightened into his torso.

Biting her lip, Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're enjoying this too much."

"What?" Draco asked, looking back at her. "You're not?" With his face up close to her, Hermione could finally see the severity of his visage. Momentarily, she stared perplexed at him. Despite the obvious injury, she still found him unbelievably beautiful. How strange it was that he'd drawn her in so much.

"Holy shit, Draco! Watch out!" Hermione yelled, the oncoming view of a thick tree trunk knocking her out of her pondering once and for all. She braced herself for a collision and, gasping, trust her face into Draco's arched back with her eyes pressed shut. However, Draco seemed to be paying much more attention than she'd anticipated. Whirling around, his hands flailed forward and he pulled the broom quickly towards the left, dodging the trunk without much of a problem.

But with that, he'd swerved down lower, laughing slightly still and then, over the rushing sound of wild wind, said, "close your eyes." Without a question, Hermione obliged, though she'd already had her eyes shut beforehand. Nonetheless, she sighed and felt the wind whirl around her, the broom lowering to the ground with quick aggression. And even with her eyes pressed shut she could tell that they'd slowed, hovering over the ground before stopping completely. Malfoy's hands flew to hers and he stumbled off the broomstick excitedly. "Keep them shut," he told her and he pulled her off of the broom's handle lightly, watching her feet hit the grass softly.

"Draco," Hermione said nervously, "Draco... where are we?"

However, Malfoy didn't say a single word. Instead, he walked slowly behind her and lifted his own hands. As if to make sure she'd been holding her eyes shut, he pressed his palms over hers. At once, Hermione felt the butterflies jolt around in her stomach. She felt winded and warm at the same time, a illness that seemed all too welcome. She sighed because she was supposed to and Malfoy laughed because he wasn't supposed to. Then he pushed her gently forward and she could feel the wind nip the tip of her nose, bitterly.

Walking forward, Draco glanced down at her over her slender shoulder. Though he couldn't quite explain it, a quick stoke of happiness washed over him and, despite the lack of a suitable jacket, he felt warm in the harsh winter weather. As a slight smile spread over his damaged face, he seemed to notice his own foolishness and blinked blindly at himself. He lifted his hands away from Hermione's shut eyes as if touching her had shocked him. "Alright," he said finally, backing away from her at once. "Alright," he said, a bit uneasily, "open your eyes."

Slowly, Hermione did so. The scene around her was a familiar one, the emerald green clearing that had been covered in pure white snow completely. The lush trees loomed over her with untainted snow, looking draped in absolute perfection. And there it was; the large lake stretched out before her. But it wasn't a lake, at least not anymore; with the entire surface of the water reflecting out before her, she could see that the entire thing had been frozen over. A massive stretch of frozen over water, the lake was the picture perfect image of steady undamaged ice.

Hermione was almost completely at a loss. "Wow," she breathed finally, looking out at the pond with her mouth left slightly open, "Draco... it's... have you ever seen it like this?"

Malfoy nodded from behind her. "Yeah," he started again, feeling uplifted at the sight of Hermione's amazement, "every winter for five years, actually."

But Hermione was shaking her head, nearing the edge of the ice lake in disbelief. "It's gorgeous!" she said quietly. Then she spun around, turning back to look at him for the second time. And in that moment she'd seen him in the same light as she had on the broom; the immense joy that he seemed to give off had touched her. She'd forgotten about the lake and the ice and the snow. She'd forgotten about his careless ride on his broomstick. All she could think about was Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy and the smile on his lovely face, Draco Malfoy and the look in his gorgeous gray eyes. The jittery feeling in her stomach was new and she'd felt nervous and thrilled all at once. Draco Malfoy and all his perfect imperfections, standing there before her with a bruised face and a split lip- she couldn't think of any other place in the world that she'd rather be.

Though an electric shock twisted over her rather instantly. Furthermore, she was thrust out of her delirium unquestionably. What was she thinking? "Draco... I have to tell you something-"

Once again Malfoy seemed to take to ignoring her. Swallowing, he darted forward as if he hadn't heard her and took her by the hand. "Now," he said gently, the tip of his nose as red as a tomato, "I promised I would take you ice skating."

"What?" Hermione asked, blinking. However, she allowed Draco to inch her forward, stopping just before the edge of the ice shakily. "Draco, I-"

"It's safe, I promise," Malfoy answered her back, leaning forward and taking her other hand. He backed up on the ice without looking backward and slipped slightly. With his hair messily rummaged about his pale face, Draco reeled forward, smiling back at her with an immensely humiliated grin.

Shaking her head, Hermione glanced back towards the ice. She opened her mouth to protest, but Malfoy had backed up even further, thus bringing her forward onto the ice's surface. She slipped slightly, following Draco's unsteady lead, and regained herself using Malfoy's clammy hands. Still, they backed up against the glassy lake and swung themselves in towards the center of the frozen lake steadily. As they found the middle, Draco gently let Hermione's left hand go and helped her move towards his side. Swinging around back towards him, Hermione shook her head. She laughed, a bit anxiously, and watched her feet slip against the ice. "What has gotten into you lately?" she asked him, watching his pale face light up in the night.

Malfoy shrugged, watching her stumble. "I dunno," he said, unsure, "I guess I just needed some air."

"Some air?" Hermione blinked, seemingly just as unconvinced as Pansy had been. Hermione stumbled, though she was saved by Draco's unfaltering grip. "Where have you been today?"

Once again, Malfoy's feet slipped out from underneath him. Still, Hermione helped him back to a straighter stance and watched him carefully. "Galler's office," he said hesitantly, and Hermione's face drained of any visible color.

"How," she asked shakily, "h-how did it go?"

However, Malfoy was truly not in the mood to be talking about his mind or his therapy sessions. "Fine, fine," he said, whisking away the question instantly. Still, he looked increasingly pale when he leaned towards her again and backtracked on the ice. Nonetheless, he put on a rather sincere face and said, "nothing to worry about. How was your day?"

"Draco," Hermione started, uneasy and unsure. It was the first time in a long time that she'd seen him so happy. And she felt almost criminal as she contemplated on how to tell him about his files, about the recommendation. "Draco, I don't think..."

Malfoy winced. As Hermione stuttered blindly in front of him, he leaned back his head and gazed up at the stars. When he glanced back at her, it was a look that Hermione wasn't sure that she could take. "Please," he tried, shoulders lowering and smile beginning to fade, "please, Hermione... I... can we not do this tonight? Can we not? Please..." Baffled, Hermione stared back at him. He looked completely crushed, as if the mere mention of his mental health had physically drained him. And the undeniable sadness dwelled upon Hermione with an even more bitter rush than she could have ever imagined. But Malfoy's face slumped downwards, staring back from the sky and then to her completely. "I'd just like to go one night without thinking about my _head_ or my _mind _or the therapist's office."

But Hermione stood still, watching him carefully and considering everything quickly. And she realized... she couldn't do it. She couldn't do it and she loathed herself for it. So, she swallowed and she nodded, saying timidly, "okay."

Malfoy's face lit up. "Okay?" he asked in disbelief, moving towards her slightly on the ice. Hermione nodded, not quite able to look him in the eye. And then he swung himself forward, grabbing her under the chin and bringing her face to his with whole-hearted honesty. But despite herself Hermione could not manage to push him away. Blinking, she stood frozen on the ice before sinking back into him and allowing him to pull her close to his body, warming her up upon instant impact. In the darkness of the night, the two seemed to float, despite being rooted wobbly to the frozen lake.


	11. Man at the Corner

**Vonne:** I feel like we are getting to the more familiar chapters, and I'm very happy to be able to say that! I am very excited to get 'Basket Case' back up to the point that we were at until I deleted it. Thanks so much, for the millionth time, for all the feedback I've been getting on 'Basket Case' and its revival. Coming back from the dead was definitely a good thing for me, I think, all things considered. I got to go back, refresh my memory with all these chapters, and remember everything that I'd written.

Sorry for the week long break it took me to update this! I was gone, but now I'm back to quick and fast updates just like before. I am about to leave the home for a while at the moment (temporarily, though, as in only for a couple of hours) so I wont be able to do responses this particular chapter. The next one I will, for sure.

Thank you for your continual support and attention!

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**Chapter Ten  
Man at the Corner**

With his feet perched up against the footstool of the couch, Gregory Goyle watched happily as Draco Malfoy sipped at his tea cup. Despite the bruises and bags underneath his gray eyes, there was something different about the boy altogether- and it wasn't just due to the fact that he hadn't said a word when Goyle did not pour him any liquor. How Malfoy had arrived at Goyle's front door was, of course, rather unexpected; though Goyle had learned not to expect anything from Draco anymore. He'd been covered in ice and twigs and, broomstick in hand, he'd skipped into the house almost weightlessly. But Goyle didn't say a word about Malfoy's cheerfulness. Instead, he'd decided to rather take advantage of it. Watching Draco slump on the living room couch in a sort of haze, he'd thrust him the tea cup and sipped a glass of red wine for himself, counting the moments until Malfoy noticed their different beverages.

However, if Draco were to notice, he did not seem to mind it. Merely, he leaned backward, placed his hands behind his head and breathed outward, smiling up at Goyle's ceiling. Eyebrows furrowing, Goyle pressed his back farther against the sofa. Malfoy's face was covered in bruises and cuts and still, the smile on his face was unmistakable. In the warmness of his home indoors, Goyle sniffed and shifted slightly in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs repetitively. Tilting his head to one side, he analyzed Draco momentarily before finally giving in and asking out loud, "having a good evening, are we?"

"Having a brilliant evening, Goyle," Malfoy quipped, turning his attention towards Goyle completely. Goyle winced; there was something slightly unnerving about seeing Draco so injured, swollen and happy all at once. It was as if he were sending the world one big mixed signal. "I think," Malfoy added, looking insightful, "I should try it more often."

Flatly, Goyle asked back, "try what more often?"

"Good evenings. I'd forgotten how enjoying they can be."

"That's not what I meant," Goyle muttered, sighing rapidly. It wasn't as if he did not appreciate seeing Draco so happy, but he did have his suspicions. "What's the cause of this?" he asked, tossing his hands out wildly. "Alcohol? Drugs? Oh, God, Draco... did you hire a _prostitute?"_

At once, Malfoy's face twisted. From the couch, he shot up, sitting on the cushion straight and steady. After a while of staring, surprised back at Goyle, it took him quite a while to notice that he was, in fact, completely serious. He regained himself, shook his head quickly, and put on an even more immensely serious expression. "Surprisingly, no," he said, addressing the alcohol, "Definitely no," he added, remembering the drugs, "and, with the last one, you must be out of your mind."

"Well, what do you expect the, Draco?" the blond's friend answered back, after a moment. He seemed to have taken to believing Malfoy, though he did not drop his suspicious attitude. Peering over his glass of twinkling red wine, Goyle gulped down another small sip and glazed back at him with glazed over eyes. "You've got to admit that this- _this-_ is one massive mood swing."

Shrugging, Malfoy leaned back once again. So maybe Goyle was right- maybe his good mood was just that, one 'massive mood swing'. But, the truth of the matter was, it did not really matter. Hermione had been the cause of his uplifted spirits and Draco considered that all the cure he'd needed. "Don't worry about the specifics, mate," Draco replied, looking peaceful one again. "Just... enjoy it while it lasts."

Rolling his eyes, Goyle answered back, "I'll say."

The fire before the two of them flicked excitedly and Goyle resisted the urge to ask Draco what exactly he was doing out of bed anyway. However, he couldn't ignore the fact that seeing Draco so gleeful was a bit refreshing. Malfoy seemed as if he were about fifteen again, Death-Eater-less without a care in the world. Happily, he was reminded to his days back in Hogwarts. With the fire burning in the fireplace brightly before him, it was almost as if they were back in the common rooms in the Slytherin House after potions. And all that was missing was Crabbe. Crabbe; the mere thought of him made Goyle's blood suddenly run cold. Why must he spoil such a uniquely calm moment with such memories? Momentarily, he sat uncomfortable on the seat before he realized that he couldn't help but bring up the subject, despite the risk of ruining Draco's good mood.

"Ever think about Crabbe?" Goyle asked and maybe he had drank a bit too much wine after all.

As suspected, the mention of Vincent wiped any color off of Draco's already pale face. Nonetheless, he turned himself on the couch and stared back at Goyle, almost bitterly. "So much for my good mood, Goyle," he said blankly, looking as if he'd been socked in the stomach.

"Hey," Goyle said, shrugging, "was bound to end sooner or later."

Malfoy muttered to himself, realizing that, like it or not, Goyle's point was definitely valid. More obviously, it wasn't as if he hadn't thought about Vincent Crabbe. Besides, he was sure the memory of their childhood friend had haunted Crabe just as much. And there was nothing more that he could really avoid about it- he'd still possessed the scar on the side of his skull from where Crabbe had hit him with the metal shovel. Such a thing was a hard one to forget. "Yeah," Draco said after a small moment of inquiry. He'd decided that he didn't really need to know the reason that Crabbe was brought up, decided that he didn't really care. It wasn't something that had been talked about out loud about. "I think about him once in a while... don't you?"

"Quite often," Goyle admitted, glancing down. Crabbe and Goyle were even closer than Draco had ever been with Crabbe alone. Despite the alcohol, something seemed to be bugging Goyle and Draco considered the fact that Goyle had wanted to talk about Crabbe for quite some time. Then, sounding a little bit saddened, Goyle said aloud, "he never got a funeral."

Shuddering, Draco realized that he'd never really thought about the fact. Vincent Crabbe, he'd never been remembered properly. But what would his funeral have been like, anyways? Vincent Crabbe had lived and never loved. He did not grace the population of the world around him and he'd did not strive to make the world a better place. He tried to imagine a ceremony, but could not truly picture anyone that would have actually showed up on the date. The Death-Eaters had died and he was almost certain that there would be not a soul daring enough to host it. A cold chill ran up Draco's spine and Vincent Crabbe was nothing but a name on a plaque in a cemetery.

The happy mood that Draco had been in prior to the conversation had been, as expected, demolished. But he was not as disappointed as he'd thought he'd be; Crabbe was, more or less, a friend. Despite the fact that he did not exist anymore, there was no changing the fact that they had grown up together. "Have you ever gone to visit him? ... To see the plaque, I mean."

"I haven't," Draco shrugged, honest. An intense wave of guilt rushed over him rapidly. He hadn't even visited his best friend's tombstone and all because he was too afraid to even approach it.

Goyle shrugged. He didn't seem too surprised by Draco's sincere answer and said solemnly himself, "I haven't either."

And what was their excuse? Crabbe's tombstone had been there for five whole years, pushed aside away from the other stones in a cluster among the other Death Eaters'. That group of stone plaques that sat in the cluster together were the ones without flowers, without notes, without visitors. On his walks past the thing, though hurried they were, Draco had seen the scrawled marks that the young had defaced the plaques with. Draco and Crabbe, they'd survived but only just. As he considered the graffiti-covered stones, he considered the very real possibility that one of the stones could have very possibly been both his or Goyle's.

And who was to say that such a fate still wasn't in the future of Draco Malfoy? He'd never redeemed himself and the possibility haunted him relentlessly. With a fearful shiver of dread, Draco prayed quickly to himself, hoping that he would someday not end up a dead body, rotting under some disrespected tombstone. "What happened to us?" Goyle asked Malfoy after a while of not quite knowing what to say. He'd poured the remaining contents down his throat and then reached over for another.

Shrugging, Draco wasn't exactly sure he'd known the right answer. He ran his palm over his face and said, groggily, "that's something I've been asking myself for a long time."

"It's something I've avoided for a long time," Goyle admitted. He shifted and then regained himself, looking a bit bitter and uneasy at the same time.

Draco looked as pale as a ghost. When he peered up from his hands, he said out loud to Goyle, "do you think I'll get a funeral when I die?" Anxious, he let his hand slip over his mouth and he looked uncomfortable and red in the face. His eyes were glassy and, uneasy, he added, "do you think anyone will bother to show up?"

The question seemed to hit Goyle almost completely unexpectedly. He froze, blinking back at Draco before his broad shoulders lowered by his jaw. However, he managed to completely readjust himself, smoothing his expression out with one slight sigh. "Draco, I..." Goyle started again, downing the rest of his glass, "I've... been content, Draco. I've been living contently for three years. And now, now I'm still the _same_ content person. But since when has a content life ever been anyone's end goal? And maybe... maybe you're right, maybe we've all still got a lot longer to go. But I don't think you should go around feeling miserable." Once again, Goyle attempted to straighten himself. For a spilt second, he paused and opened his mouth to speak again. "I just thought I'd tell you that because Crabbe, he lived a miserable existence."

Nodding, Draco's expression did not exactly show that he'd been entirely convinced. But, nonetheless, Goyle leaned forward, wiping the his face lightly. "And I'm one hundred percent positive that you'll have a lovely funeral." Watching Draco glance up, Goyle continued jokingly, "with all the money Lucius and Narcissa have, such a thing is inevitable, mate."

And even Malfoy couldn't help but laugh. His drained face brightened a little and he slumped down in his seat, an unwillingly little smile forming across his face. He smiled a quirky one and smoothed back his hair, shrugging off the nerves that had enveloped him before. He cleared his throat and reached for the tea, blinking back at Goyle, who'd taken to regaining himself quickly as well. Laughing, Malfoy pushed his messy hair behind his ears, smiling still at the living room around him. He asked toothily, "what time is it?"

Goyle glanced out the window before looking at the clock on the wall opposite him. The sky around Goyle's small house was pitch black and the snow outside was just barely clinging to the end of the outstretched tree branches. "eleven... thirty," Goyle said, peering at the clock finally before leaning back. Had time really gone by that fast, or had he had too much wine after all? Even Draco glanced upwards to look at the sky, having completely forgotten about the time entirely. But Goyle's hands slammed down on the top of his knees and, with that, he pulled himself to a standing position, looking over Draco with a sleepy little grin. "Alright," he said, tired and a bit drunk, "I'm going to bed." Then, he motioned towards the couch that Draco was seated at and said sloppily, "the sofa folds into a bed."

He was half way around the corner with his hand on his doorknob and he turned to Malfoy, who was looking about the living room, slightly confused. "But," he said, "I'm not drunk."

"So you say," Goyle backfired, only half teasing. And then he slumped back behind the door, vanishing behind it with one big and drunken moan.

Momentarily, Draco sat at the cushion counter, timidly frozen. It was, after all, an odd feeling knowing that he was not the intoxicated being. However, he considered taking Goyle up on his offer to say- he wasn't sure whether or not Pansy was still waiting around in his bedroom for his return. The mere thought made him shiver, feeling perhaps a bit too nauseous. So, he flopped back and didn't bother to adjust the sofa. Instead, he pulled off his coat and kicked off the boots from his feet. With a wave of his wand, he outed the lights, and thrust himself into complete darkness.

* * *

Perhaps Gregory Goyle was too old to be worried about bumps in the night, but the one that woke him had particularly given him something to worry about. He sat up, statuesque in his bed with his feet out in front of him and heard the loud noise while blinking to adjust his eyes to the light. He hadn't quite got ahold of the concept when he'd stumbled out of bed nonetheless anxious and horrified. And perhaps it was because Goyle had come to think the worst of such unwelcome nightly disturbances that he'd took a long moment to catch his breath before darting for his wand on the nightstand uneasily.

Still and unmoving, he stood in the darkness of his bedroom, the first pounding sensation of his hangover only just beginning to pester him. But he took to ignoring his discomfort and swallowed his nerves while pushing aside the butterflies in his stomach that were so particularly obvious. A feeling of sickness swelled over him cautiously; it was one in the morning and such noises were definitely out of the ordinary. But Goyle was a grown man now and these sort of things had been up to him to fix. As the one and only man of his own portly little home, it was only utterly obvious that it was his sole duty to protect himself from whatever dangers might be lurking in the night. That didn't mean, of course, that Goyle had prepared himself for it.

Breathing as little and as silently as possible, Gregory reached out for the cold metal door knob that glistened to him in the dark of the night. The door creaked open and Goyle stood like a statue in the doorframe, his shoulders squared and felt like an ant in the vision of his house that seemed to expand before him. Thinking back to all the horror novels he'd read, the only books he'd ever read in his entire lifetime, and a whirlwind of terrorizing possibilities hit him like a ton of bricks. And, of course, any bump in the night had triggered the more blunt thought of Voldemort. Long, cold, and unnerving, a steep chill climbed up the length of Goyle's stiff spine and he held his breath. Like a solider reliving his time spent in battle, he could almost physically see the shadows of Death-Eaters cast upon the walls of his blackened interiors.

His fingers braced the circumference of his wand much harder and his fat knuckles turned a ghastly shade of white. Goyle gulped, swallowing the massively annoying lump in his throat before shaking away the sweat from his face. Then he extended his bulky leg, leaned half way out of the frame, and glanced over the view of his living room. It had looked, by all things considered, perfectly untainted and oddly untouched. With not a thing out of place, Goyle had garnered the courage to advance, shuffling against the floorboards with a bit of a higher stroke of confidence. Perhaps there was nothing in his house at all; perhaps the noise was only, as many noises often were, the shifts of the home in general. Breathing out slightly, Goyle felt a bit of foolish relief flood overwhelmingly through him. He exhaled, ran his free hand through his briskly head of hair, and turned his back towards the room completely.

Something moved in the corner of the room. It was a dark shadow that wobbled barely and then slunk off again, behind the couch and into the kitchen. As the figure moved forward, it gripped the side of the counter, stumbled forward, and seemed to vanish. It didn't, however, escape the fate of being noticed by Goyle, who had frozen in the door just as he could make out the black shadow in the reflection of his bedroom mirror. His thundering heart stopped dead in its fast paced tracks. He was almost unable to move, almost unable to keep himself holding onto his wander entirely. Once again, he could feel the sensation of a cold sweat melt his face completely.

In the five years he'd been living on his own, he'd never had expected to have to handle a break-in. In fact, he wasn't entire sure how exactly _to_ handle one. He mouthed false bits of encouragements to himself, telling his large reflection over and over again that he could do this; he could handle this... not a problem. So, spinning around on his heels, he turned back to face the open space that was his living room. With quiet feet, he tip-toed across the floorboards and held his breath anxiously. Goyle could see him, too; the intruder stumbled across the floor and, finally, stepped back into the kitchen, his long arms outstretched just barely. But, squinting, Goyle could not make out any sign that the shadow was holding a wand. Instead, the figure walked like a timid little zombie, barely balanced and wobbling, his mouth moving minutely to grumble bits of inaudible speech to himself.

Murmuring, the figure seemed to pay no attention to Goyle, who had made his presence almost too blunt. He'd stepped into the space that divided the kitchen and the living room, backtracked slightly, and gazed up at the ceiling. In the light of the moon that shone through the barely parted curtains of Goyle's home, he could make out a massive flood of sweat and tears covering the man's partly shaded visage. Goyle stepped forward, thrust his wand out forcefully, and acted prepared. In a voice that he almost did not recognize himself, he hissed, "who are you?"

But the figure did not move a muscle. Rather, he kept his focus at the ceiling, staring up at it as if it had just collapsed on the two of them, devouring them both instantly. And Goyle's heart beat a mile a minute, perhaps running on what seemed like battery acid and anxiety combined. But there was nothing above the two of them. Expecting the space above momentarily, Goyle could see not a thing wrong with the ceiling top. Thus he shifted, glancing back at the shadow with a slightly furrowed brow. As if he couldn't take it anymore, Goyle pushed the wand out further, shouting, "_lumos!"_

The end of Goyle's wand lit up, shining brightly at first, but then dimming down to show him the figure in front of him, which was hardly much of a threat. There in the white light stood Draco Malfoy, mouth parted slightly, eyes glazed over, and hair tangled as if he'd slept on it funny. He didn't react to the light at all and instead watched the ceiling, his shoulders lowered, his bare feet planted on the ground sloppily. And for a moment Goyle froze, watching Malfoy stand stilly in front of him with a rather blank expression. He stepped forward, touched the shirt sleeve of Draco's shoulder, and said with a nervous little laugh, "oy, mate, are you... are you sleepwalking?"

However, at the collision of Goyle's meaty hand with Draco's shoulder, Malfoy's focus on the ceiling faltered immediately. He broke away from it in a twitchy motion and looked past Goyle, panting heavily. A slightly desperate moan escaped from his throat and he whirled around as if someone unseen and unheard had called out for him. But with that, he staggered away from his spot, lunging forward almost fearfully. "Draco, hey!" Goyle called back, not moving an inch from where he'd stood. As relieved as he'd been, an entirely new curiosity captivated him. Despite the headache and the discomfort with the intense light ahead of him, Goyle was certain that, other than Draco's sleepwalking, something wasn't right. "Draco, wake up."

_"Professor?" _Malfoy spun around, uneasy on his own two feet, his hands gripping the kitchen chairs for support. He stumbled on the leg of one of the chairs, regaining himself to a slightly more straight, yet similarly sloppy position. The look of terror in his eyes was undeniable and, as the moments passed by, Goyle wasn't exactly sure he'd even heard Malfoy correctly.

"No, Draco," he said, once he was certain that there was no mistaking Draco's word, "it's Goyle. You need to wake up now, alright?" Despite everything Goyle had learned about not waking up a sleepwalker, there was nothing more that he'd desired than to bring Malfoy back to consciousness. Yet, the fearful action of brining himself forward was quite daunting and he was almost impossibly rooted to the spot. Watching Draco, Goyle held his wand tightly, flooded with concern. Whatever dream Draco was having, he'd wished he'd snap out of it. "Draco," he tried again, growing impatient and rather spooked, "oy, Draco!" Malfoy had moved himself to the wall, pressing his back on it with intense aggression. He gasped, as if being choked, and then slunk down the end of it like a rag doll. Legs bent and crooked slightly at the knee, he slumped back into himself, his scraped hands grabbing for his head, a fit of small croaky sobs coming up from his chest.

Not sure he could stand still too much longer, Goyle started forward, pushing his wand out and making for Draco's shoulder gently. He lightly gripped the top of it saying in a shaky little tone, "Draco, you're just dreaming... alright? Wake up." And, unexpectedly, it seemed to do the job right. Malfoy's eyes shifted, glancing first at Goyle and then slipping down to his hand on his shirt collar. He blinked, coming up from his dream rather quickly, and then, wincing, shook his head mildly. When he'd seemed to regain himself, he looked back up at Goyle, a confused expression stamped across his pale face.

Then he said, "what's going on?"

"You were dreaming," Goyle said instantly, slightly backing up from his friend carefully. He'd watched Malfoy as he looked again around the room, wincing at the darkness back into the harsh light of Goyle bright wand. "You were sleepwalking!" he said again, trying to lift the mood slightly. Still, the smile on his face was only just crooked; it sat on his puffy visage long enough to fade away slowly.

"I feel awful," Draco responded and he pressed his head backwards against the wall behind him. Awful seemed to be the night's understatement. In fact, there was almost something chilling about the mere appearance of Draco Malfoy who, despite the bruises and scrapes, was a faint shade of green and carried two dark bags underneath his eyes. He breathed in a slow way and shut his eyes as he leaned backwards, before opening them and blinking. His eyes were bloodshot and rather glassy.

Goyle huffed. Out loud he said shakily, "no kidding. No offense, mate, but you don't look too great."

Shaking his head, Draco hauled himself to his feet, using the wall behind him for a massive amount of support. "I'm going to get up," he told Goyle before he rose, and assumed the staggering stand point that was almost immensely questionable.

Wobbling, he scanned the dark living room and for a moment looked acceptably serene before his head jolted back upwards for the third time in the night. As it appeared to Goyle, Draco had heard something that he had not; however, the real sound was one that only Draco had heard. One thousand, lingering, enthusiastic voices shot through his ears all at once, as if the entire universe had been trying to tell him a secret. He couldn't make any of them out particularly, but they screamed and moaned and whispered and yelled all at once; some angry, some gentle, some threatening. And as he listened, he could feel himself growing immensely nauseous- despite the consistency of such events, he still had not found the strength to get used to them. Nonetheless, he kept slightly still, trying not to scare Goyle, who stood at a small distance, his own eyes glancing around the room with excessive curiosity.

The flashes came much faster than Draco had anticipated. Light flashes of white light flickered before his eyes and made his head run with fuzzy reception. Goyle's voice was almost muffled through his ears and Malfoy's vision was very much of an intensive blur. And then he saw him. Over the white flashes of light, his unreliable vision found focus on a tall shadow just behind Goyle. The thing did not move; instead, it stayed still, watching with quiet attention. The figure's amusement was quite obvious and, as the smile rose on the man's rotting face, Draco could just make out his set of yellow teeth. "I see him," Draco said miserably, giving up the act of bravery and content. But he couldn't quite help the desperate tone that reeked behind his heavy voice, couldn't quite contain himself from almost pleading.

Goyle whirled around. With his wand held out steadily before him, he braced himself for something that did not come. The living room, still black and almost blinding, was furthermore completely untouched. Raising an eyebrow, Goyle turned back around, shoulders slightly slumping. He felt a strange tingle run along his spine, perhaps more fearful of Draco than he'd expected himself to be. But, truthfully, Malfoy's strangeness had made him slightly nervous. Slowly, he asked in a hoarse voice, "see who?"

However, Malfoy did not answer. Instead, he felt a shiver of his own creep up on him. Unwillingly, he stumbled forward and took to resting with his palms on the surface of his bent knees. Crouching over as if someone had punched him in the gut, he hovered before the floorboards and held back the nausea that was rising up from the pit of his shaky stomach. But the vision of Voldemort did not vanish. Instead, the tall and deceased shadow stood stilly, his hands at his side, the coil of his long snake wrapped around his feet. His head seemed to twitch at his shoulders, as if being jerked back and forth in short, quick little motions. He did not move; all he did was smile. And then Malfoy couldn't hold it anymore. Coughing, slowly at first, he felt the bile rise up from his stomach and land on he floor in front of him. Goyle stumbled back, but Malfoy started upwards. "Shit!" Goyle shouted, shaken, and his eyes were wide as his face took on a new shade of pallor. He asked, heaving as if he'd run laps, "are you alright?" but Malfoy was too distracted to answer suitably. Voldemort had gone and Draco stood, left behind, assuming his unhealthy unbalance. Thus, once the darkness crept back up on him, a lack of light that wasn't caused by the shaded living room, he felt his eyes roll back and fell forward, out like a light. Draco Malfoy's collapse was broken in sections; his knees went out first, with the fall of his torso close behind. But Goyle stumbled forward, grabbing Malfoy before he hit the floor. He'd caught Draco against his chest and, dumbfounded, stared down at him with a dropped jaw before he even found it in him to move.

He hauled Malfoy back over to the couch, his heart racing. Decisively, he shoved away his wand, the tip of it going out rather quickly. And in the dark he sat stilly, finally flopping down on the couch opposite Draco for a panicked fit of thought. His mind raced and, shaking, he fumbled forward and gripped his throbbing head. His hangover was far on the bottom of his priorities list. And, that didn't help the fact that his delusional, unconscious and ill best friend was lying in a heap on the cushions in front of him. He counted his blessing, which was, rather pathetically, only one: at least Draco Malfoy was still breathing.

So he considered one of two options: call Lucius Malfoy or get him professional help. But Goyle wasn't even sure if Lucius had known Draco wasn't home. Something had told Goyle that the man was still, even at such early hours, out and about with the conflicting Ministry. Even Goyle had remembered that Lucius had advised his son to stay at the Manor. Frantic, Goyle stumbled upwards and made for Draco's peacoat, discarded in the corner. Sniffling uneasily, he pulled it on his friend's limp arms and yanked Draco's socks and boots back on his feet. So, heaving, he lunged back towards his wand. He pointed it back at Draco, without really much of a choice. Hovering limp in the air just before the floor, Draco's unconscious body waited for Goyle to collect himself and grab his own coat, his hands almost too shaky to button himself up in the correct way.

And, stumbling out into the darkness of the early morning, Goyle set out towards the office of Elaine Galler.


	12. A Reoccurring Nightmare

**Vonne: **Thank you so much for all the love and constant support. I am so close to catching up with Basket Case where I left off, I can almost taste it. But now, leaving the excitement behind, I'm going to simply continue moving 'BC' onward. Thus, of course, this means none other than the arrival of chapter eleven. I have to say, I actually remember writing this chapter and I feel that I am so close to where I left off. Once again, thank you to M.R. girl, who helped revive this from the start. And, of course, enjoy!

**Doni: **Exactly! And Goyle's a great person to have with him, unlike having an episode in the middle of an alleyway like beforehand. So, it's really, really a good thing for Draco at this point to be around Goyle, who does do his best to look after him.

**MCLanna: **Thank you very much! I will definitely continue to update BC as often as I have been- minus my slight hiatus over the past week.

**Psychic City: **Well, I know that- but I definitely hope that you will update YOUR story just as soon... even tonight, if possible. Hey! You promised... ;)

**Le Candeh: **Well, I don't want to keep you waiting much longer! :)

This chapter I received notification of many alerts and even messages full of support and compliments. I appreciate them so much. Thank you to the five additional people (who did not review, but that's A-ok) who managed to make my day! I hope you all enjoy revisiting this next chapter.

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**Chapter Eleven  
A Reoccurring Nightmare**

A loud bang sent the front door of Elaine Galler's office flying open. Wooden and pushed with immense force, the large thing clamored against the wall behind it and revealed the shadows at its frame: one large and lumbering exhausted outline whose shoulders were bobbing up and down uncontrollably; and one unconscious and flimsy figure, upside down and several feet up in the air. The biggest of the two, he fumbled forward, clutching his side, and leaned to the side on the steady doorframe, one hand pitched straight for support. As he looked up slowly, the daunted woman at the desk in the office room could make out only the whites of his anxious eyes. Panting heavily and speaking in a voice so hoarse that it was almost utter gibberish, he said between breaths, "something's wrong."

Elaine Galler looked upwards from the papers she'd been reviewing and her airborne quill clattered to the ground. Something being wrong was perhaps the first large understatement of the night. From her spot seated behind the safety of her desk, Elaine could see the dual male shadows and the blond head of someone completely flipped over. She scurried up from her desk, stumbled over her own pair of feet, and peered out at the figures. She gripped her wand so tightly that her knuckles turned an instant bright shade of white. Her face drained of any possible color left. For a middle-aged woman of her years, she was not supposed to be scared of things in the night but this, this one had absolutely horrified her.

Clutching her aching heart, she said fearfully, "who's there?"

The hefty man, who was still bent double, did not say anything that could be considered perhaps an answer. Instead, he shook his head, as if whisking her inquiry away as something pointless and unnecessary. Blinking and sweating massive amounts of pouring sweat, he said with a rather urgent yelp, "y-you gotta do something!"

But what could she do, really? She was rooted to her spot, her heart pounding excessively, her eyes a hazy fog of blur. Thinking almost unclearly, she remained almost completely dormant, her legs the roots of her body's own hypothetical roots, and lifted her wand only to hiss out, _"lumos!"_

All at once, the bright white light revealed the figure's shaded faces. There in front of her stood Gregory Goyle, his face crumbled in a hysterical grimace. His face was bloated with dehydration and his eyes were red with exhaustion. He shook from his legs to his torso, weak in every way, shape, and manner. Despite being currently conscious, he looked as if he could pass out in any given moment. Then, floppily, he slumped down to the ground as he trailed his back down the ledge of the doorframe, and his legs stuck out in either direction. He held his wand up, though floppily, and the shadow above him only bobbed in the air slightly. Goyle's chest heaved up and down spastically. From his spot sweating on the carpet ground, he said morosely, "please... ."

Eyes moving up, she finally caught sight of the body, dangling in all its drained glory. Mouth dangling slightly open, the visage of the body had ghostly skin, contradicting the tip of its red nose. The white button up was just barely tucked in to a pair of black trousers, and the limp jacket hung like a thread, barely there on the shoulders. The blond hair hung loosely on the figure's scalp and that was a dead giveaway. In a croaky little tone, she yelped, "Draco?"

Then on fast feet she made her way attentively over, stumbling and tripping over her own long skirt. Her glasses slipped down the bridge of her long nose and her perfect hair came undone from her tight ponytail. With her hair hanging in a mess at her drained face, she looked all the more older. "What's going on?" she asked, befuddled. Her eyes shifted back and forth between Draco and Goyle, who she allowed to compose himself at the doorframe. Her wiry little hands felt for Draco's face as it hung in the air and then, because Goyle did not do so, she let him fall to the ground gently. Her head raced and she watched Goyle as he continued to pant. Like a true professional, she asked hastily, "how long has he been out?"

Goyle, however, was a bit too frantic. He swallowed hard and shook his head with fierce aggression. "I dunno," he said, his face still pink with the flush of working out. "He was sleepwalking in the middle of the night around my house." Every word came out within the heavy pause of a heaving breath. "Woke him up," he said after a long while, "he saw something in the corner, I think... threw up on my shoes." Elaine Galler glanced down and cringed at the state of Goyle's black boots. Still, her hand flew to Draco's clammy forehead, reeling back slightly at the mere chilliness of it. "He got all woozy and then... just passed out. D-didn't hit the floor, though."

The look etched on Draco Malfoy's face was twisted. His eyes moved forcefully behind his eyelids and his mouth was open in a slight way that only stifled his otherwise incomprehensible moans. A cluster of his blond hair was stuck sweatily to his forehead and the green tint that had overtaken his pale skin was ever so obvious. Elaine Galler adjusted herself and nodded towards Goyle. "Help me move him," she said finally, and she dug her hands underneath his sore arms. With a slight grunt, she heaved his upper body higher and watched Goyle as he moved back towards Draco's ankles. Silently, other then the sound of Goyle's breaths, they moved his body towards the elongated couch and placed it gently on the cushion. Then, when they'd figured him to be steady enough on his back there, Goyle stood back, only to fall back forward with his hands on his knees.

Galler, on the other hand, bustled towards her desk, handling her long wand before running back to the window and shoving aside the curtains. Bringing a well needed source of fresh air into the room, she pulled open the window entirely and let the chilly harshness of the winter breeze nip her in the face. She the wind shoved aside her dress and her stringy locks, she moved back towards Goyle, looking both sickly and determined. Then she assumed her position, turning back and locking eyes with Goyle intensely. Her pupils narrowed and the crows feet around her eyes seemed even more visible. "Okay," she said, preparing herself with her hand tightly gripping at her wand, "I need to get your permission to do this."

Goyle blinked. His eyes shifted back and forth between Draco and Galler, who did not loose her gaze. Instead, she waited rather steadily, despite Goyle's blunt nervousness. "You need my permission to do _what?" _he asked, standing only slightly straighter.

"To use Occlumency," Galler responded, looking back at Draco. "There's obviously something I've been missing going on-"

But Goyle cut her off quickly. "You need me to permit that? I... I'm n-not related to Draco... I d-don't have any clue-"

Elaine Galler's shoulders sunk. Only her eyes looked back at Goyle, who had broken out in yet another heavy sweat. "Does Draco trust you?"

"I-I... I guess?"

"Then, do I have your permission?" The wind from the newly open window was still effecting her greatly. It passed her by and whisked her hair even further across her old face. The hair on Goyle's arms were standing up straight on end, his entire body was covered in goose bumps. And she wasn't moving a muscle. Goyle half wished she would, wished she could do something so that he didn't have to make the decision for Draco who, more than likely, had had enough with Occlumency.

In the back of his mind, Goyle knew that Draco probably wouldn't agree with Galler or her urgency to use any type of spell, especially one so unnatural. He drew his breath in and racked his brain. If there was one thing that Goyle hated it was making important decisions. "No," he said finally, feeling both bitter and happy with himself. "Isn't there something else you can-"

For a moment, Galler looked completely surprised, as if she hadn't expected much trouble out of Goyle in the first place. Then, however, her shock seemed to melt completely. She swallowed, nodding timidly and then lifted her wand anyway, muttering a spell that even Goyle could hardly hear over the whirl of wind outside the place. There came a harsh sound, that of something splitting, and then Draco's body gave a soft twitch before his chest rose to inhale. "Draco," Galler said with such softness that she was almost completely unclear, "Draco, can you hear me?"

Goyle glanced back down at Malfoy, who was still by all means unconscious. However, his breaths had significantly changed to that of higher and more hefty inhales. The sickly look about his face, while still very much present, looked vaguely softer. The harsh movement behind his shut eyes had stopped completely. Malfoy did not answer the therapist, however, Galler continued to address him anyway, as if surely confident. "Draco... can you tell me what you have been dreaming about?"

For a spilt second, it had actually seemed that he'd been considering answering her. Still, Goyle remained unmoving, despite his heaving shoulders. His sweaty face dripped relentlessly and he glanced back and forth between Draco and Galler, whose attention was focused solely on Draco alone. However, the surprise came to him when Draco's face gave a slight twitch and then relaxed, still looking illy morose, before choking out the words, "a reoccurring nightmare." Goyle froze; stuck in the uneasy position where he'd stood at, his mouth hung loosely open and his face drained of any possible color. Nonetheless, he stared at his friend, who was answering despite his sleep, and he felt a rush of ease sweep over him for not permitting Galler to do something that Draco possibly would not have approved of. At last, when he'd felt as happy with himself as he possibly could, he took two steps forward and tilted his hungover head.

"The same nightmare?" Galler pressed on, mulling his answer over slowly. She thought about it at first, and then seemed to remember what he'd been talking about rather quickly. "Has there been something bothering you lately that would possibly... reignite these dreams?" The way in which she spoke was gentle, strangely soothing for a subject so rocky. Nonetheless, her tactic seemed to work and, other than being almost completely physically distressed, Draco's subconsciousness did not put up much of a fight.

"I've been seeing him," he finally said, once he'd taken in one large breath of air. His face fell again and, still asleep, he moved his head to one side, scrunching up his face slightly.

Goyle's eyes found Galler, who titled her head as well. Careful, she said in a timid way, "seeing who?"

Stuck in sleep, Draco mumbled, "Voldemort."

"Seeing him?" Goyle asked, looking completely dumbstruck. Galler, on the other hand, seemed steady, as if she'd heard all of this information before. That, or during her career as a therapist she'd heard much worse things than people seeing the dead. Although, Goyle's fat face drained and he looked back down at Draco with an entirely new way of viewing him. Perhaps Draco wasn't just a poor kid who had taken the wrong path. Perhaps he truly did need help. "He's been seeing Voldemort?" Galler's head moved only slightly, and she merely paused to shoot Goyle a warning glance and press her thin finger up to her slender lips.

She moved forward, peering down at Malfoy slightly. Instead of directing Goyle out of the office room completely, she turned back to Draco and adjusted her stance, shifting her weight to once side and then the other. "What have you been thinking about lately?" she asked after she'd thought about it for a short while, "anything bothering you?"

Malfoy breathed in once again, a new habit he'd taken up over the short course of his unconsciousness. And Goyle felt a wave of sickness wash over him. Whatever Galler was doing was perhaps a bit too much for Goyle. Malfoy wasn't even conscious and she was already getting him to spill out whatever she'd asked of it. Sure, he considered the fact that it was a rather good idea, but something about the way he knew Draco would take this was all the more unsettling. However, he remained still, useless. Perhaps it was because he knew, slightly, that it was for the best... was something Draco Malfoy might never do on his own terms. As Elaine Galler waited for an answer, Malfoy's head grew shiny with sweat. He looked all the more miserable, and he looked as if he was rather finished with the conversation. But he paused only momentarily before saying in a sleepy mutter, admitting, "_C-Crabbe_... and f-father... Hermione."

Hermione? Goyle's previously unmoving body had stiffened even more so, if such a thing had been imaginable. Hermione? Of course, he'd known about the radio and their conversations on the side but, wasn't that it? Weren't his chats with her just that? Just... conversations? "Hermione?" Goyle coughed, looking confused and blatantly ignoring Galler's previous plea for silence. He glanced back over at the woman, who seemed to be oddly taken back by the latest bit of information, as well.

Her middle-aged face aged with wrinkles. She seemed almost a bit confused, even. Then, adjusting herself, she said finally, "Hermione _Granger?" _Of course, Elaine Galler had known all about Draco's previous relationship with Hermione, Ron, and most of all Harry Potter. Then again, so did the whole Wizarding World. When she regained herself after the slight shock of the idea, she pressed on, "what have you been thinking about Hermione Granger?"

To her dissatisfaction, Draco said only, "i don't know."

But Galler wasted no time. Leaning forward, she asked concernedly, "what is your relationship with Hermione Granger?"

There came a slight cough and then, nothing. Draco seemed almost stuck, unable to think of an accurate response. Nonetheless, after a moment of unconscious contemplation, he said with a slightly sheepish moan, "I've been seeing her."

Both Elaine Galler and Gregory Goyle exchanged glances. Galler's expression was laced with concern, as if she hadn't found such a relationship to be the best for either of the two. The look on Goyle's face, however, was rather unreadable. With a red visage, mixed with both confusion and surprise, his mouth dropped open slightly and his arms hung loose at his sides. The heaving breaths that had so recently forced their way out of his sore lungs stopped entirely. Seeing her? Seeing Hermione Granger? If Goyle had not already considered Draco to have gone mad, then this was certainly clarification. What business did he have with someone who he had hated for eleven years? This was only going to make things worse for him and Goyle could see such a disaster coming. His mind buzzed. He wanted to leap across the couch and slap Draco silly. He'd thought Draco had wanted to make things better, not further complicate things. And though Goyle hadn't completely composed himself, Galler managed to straighten up enough to ask, "since when?"

Malfoy's face reddened. The sweat running down his face doubled and he turned to the side as if to curl himself up into a ball. Grabbing at his black tie, he coughed and sniffled, as if such an answer was not an easy one to spit out. Then, when there seemed that he could not wait any longer, he said painfully, "since I tried to jump off of the bridge."

Elaine Galler seemed to loose her footing. She slumped to the ground, kneeling before Draco in an instant. As Goyle stood dumbstruck behind her, she lifted her free hand and smoothed back the blond hair from his head, pushing it away from his forehead. "Draco," she said slowly, gradual after the moments she'd took to mull over his answer, "Draco... you tried to kill yourself?"

Only a little moan came from Malfoy's throat, but Galler did not press on for any further answer. Instead, she waved her wand and Malfoy's body fell still, the heaving breaths fell gradually to a still point. Nonetheless, she sat unmoving, her eyes glancing around as if she could only just spot an answer for the problem on the ground. Goyle stood ahead of her, his eyes pitched on Draco. Face drained and heart pounding, he felt a slight buzz that shocked his entire body. It was a feeling that he had not even arrived at the office with. He wished he hadn't heard anything that Draco had said and with the newly released bit of information out, Draco's seeing Hermione had seemed almost unimportant. His glossy eyes stared at Draco. Had life truly grown that awful? Had the three of them truly been messed up that much?

Finally, when he couldn't think of anything else to say, Goyle asked out loud, "what's going to happen?"

And, despite her loathing for the response, Galler shook her head and said back, "I don't know." With that, she rose to her feet, slumped back to her desk, and melted on to the chair with an entirely new fit of exhaustion. She placed her head in her hands and then leaned back, crossing her legs and staring back down at the files on her desk. When only a few short moments had passed by, she said, "there's this place... Hobb's."

Goyle's eyebrows rose. "Hobb's?" he asked, looking up at her, his face still white as a ghost's. "What's Hobb's?"

It took a slightly longer pause than Goyle had expected for Galler to answer him back. She seemed to have a slightly difficult time finding the words to even start herself off with. Opening her mouth, she shut it timidly before trying again. "It's an institution... I think that Draco would benefit there. They-"

"An institution?" Goyle choked out. He almost lost his balance entirely. Face red and sweat pouring down his front, he looked back down at Draco, at a complete loss for words. "You want to _institutionalize _him?"

Elaine Galler did not nod, but her head did not shake, either. Instead, she drew in a second breath, feeling slightly guilty at the same time. Speaking, she seemed to age desperately, as if just the night had had an immensely torturous impact on her. Ms. Galler crossed her hands, interlacing them professionally and saying out loud as an admission, "I've been reviewing his files... I knew about the nightmares before he'd told me... about the visions he's been having. With Occulamcy I'd already seen it."

The dryness in Goyle's throat increased. Looking uneasy, he said, "Draco's a drunk! He's probably..."

"He's got a problem, Goyle," Galler instantly objected, blowing Goyle's statement off completely. She shut her eyes, looked greatly concerned and continued, "I know he'd your friend but he needs help."

Goyle's hands balled up into little fists. "He does not need to be institutionalized!" he shouted, much louder than even he had anticipated. And, despite having said the words, he wasn't even sure if he himself had truly believed them or not. What he did know was that he could not let something so horrible happen. Not to Draco, not to his only surviving friend. They'd been through the worst and one of them... one of them hadn't made it. He wouldn't let Draco become another lost cause, wouldn't let Draco sit alone and die alone and rot in an institution. Not on his life.

However, Elaine Galler's mind seemed to be thinking the exact opposite. Her attitude was calm and, despite the sadness on her face, she was rather serious. Breathing in, she added, "I can see why you're upset."

But Goyle couldn't contain himself. Perhaps he was not as collected as he'd previously considered himself to be. Stepping forward, he wasn't sure if he could hex her or murder her. "Damn right I'm upset!" he bellowed, though Galler did not seemed to react the way he'd intended. She sat still, rather morose, but nonetheless, undaunted. Her head moved up and down in a nodding direction and her eyes watched Goyle closely.

The window outside, it allowed the harsh wind to push back in to the office room, moving Galler's hair and Goyle's coat. As he stood there looking murderous, he felt a cold chill run up his not so tough spine. "He'll be getting all the help he needs..."

"He has all the help he needs!" Goyle shot back, both chilly and heated up at the same time. The buzz of anger rushed through him, the strange feeling of nausea and a migraine. He could hardly keep his breathing straight, had to think of all the correct ways to inhale and exhale before actually doing so. And Galler did not seem to be able to be persuaded. Although she watched Goyle with gracious and kind attention, she was rooted; almost unshakable. With her hands locked together, there was a kind of convinced sadness about her that was plastered there, glued to her face rather forcefully.

"Goyle..."

"No! Don't talk to me about locking my friend away in some... some lunatic bin! You... you have no idea what you're on about!" Goyle felt himself finally shout, his anger reaching its highest point. He could feel the blood boiling about his entire body, felt as if he could explode with any passing moment. Feeling this angry, feeling this bitter, it was something only his seventeen year old self would have remembered. This feeling was something almost foreign to him now, but it was something that he could not prevent. "No, we... we're leaving... now." And when he was certain that he could not think of anything better to say, he raised his own wand and hauled Draco off of the couch, his unconscious body once again hanging in a limp pile in the air before him. Anxiously, Goyle shrugged on his jacket and pulled open the office door. With an aggression that could have perhaps knocked down the entire building, the two retreated from the office and Galler, back out into the night, out into the darkness.

And as Goyle made his way down the steps, having not been pursued by Elaine Galler, he thrust his shaking hand into Malfoy's dark coat pocket. His freezing fingers found the radio even more quickly than he'd thought. Then, twisting the little knob at the top, he said over the rush of the snowy breeze, "Hemione?"


	13. Dull Boy

**Vonne: **I am so happy with all the positive reviews I've gotten over the past twelve chapters. Everyone is being so supportive and loving and I'm just super enthusiastic about how many people actually read and enjoy this story. With that, I promise never to accidentally delete this- of any- of my stories ever again. Or, better yet- I will try my hardest never to delete any of my stories by accident ever again.

I want to thank all of you again for taking time to review. It's nice to get alert messages, of course, but I really love hearing from you and your reviews mean a whole bunch to me. So, please, if you have anything at all to say to me, don't hesitate to let me know in your review. I will be glad to answer you back within my next update which, hopefully, will be later towards the end of today! However, since I am in a huge hurry, I would just like to thank personally: **_L_ynn, Carl, Lively McBrighten, LECandeh, MCLanna, Doni, WeatherWatch, **and **Psychic City. **

You lot already know how much I truly appreciate it!

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**Chapter Twelve  
Dull Boy**

The darkness in the living room of Gregory Goyle enveloped both of the figures that sat within it. Goyle, with his head held up in the palms of his sweaty hands, peered at Draco Malfoy through the slight cracks in his meaty fingers. Every so often, he would inhale, moan miserably, and curse the night's events with immense emphasis. On the flimsy couch opposite him, Malfoy looked like any other average, toss away rag doll. With his twisted legs crooked and loose around one another, Goyle was sure that, if waking up were even a possibility for Malfy at this point, his coming to would not be very much of an enjoyable one.

And, more than honestly, Draco Malfoy did look like he had been through more than his fair share of grievances that night. Like a true friend, Goyle counted up the list of injuries that had piled up on Malfoy's body. He saw one black eye, newly dark and puffy; one split lip, crusted blood dried over the crack; two bleeding palms, scarlet red from God knows what; and a blond head full of the same shade of bright maroon. The sickly shade of unhealthy green on his face, that was only a bonus. Furthermore, Goyle ignored the trail of spit wandering out of the corner of his mouth. So, with a hefty sigh, he let out yet another heavy moan, thrust his thick body forward, and pressed his face into his own sweaty palms.

For the record, he'd been sitting in silence for quiet some time by himself, considering the condition of one Draco Malfoy while trying not to wince his entire way through it. But that was after the long walk home, where he'd muttered angrily to himself in oblivion before he'd decided to do something stupid. Then again, his own anger had blinded his ability to think straightly and he reached into the pocket of Draco's dark jacket, pulled out the tiny little radio and called for the assistance of Hermione Jean Granger. Now, however, as he sat waiting for the knock on his front door, he couldn't have regretted his actions more. What was he thinking? _Hermione?_ Wasn't it Draco who was supposed to be going mad? Surely Goyle couldn't have been going crazy, as well? Gripping his throbbing head, Goyle murmured to himself out loud, "Goyle, you bloody idiot."

But there really was no going back now. In the long half-hour he'd been waiting, his commitment to his friend was the only sure thing he could even possibly consider. Sure, the woman he'd loathed was on her way over as he sat, waiting in agony. But it wasn't like Goyle hadn't asked for it. He had, in fact, called her up, sat on the radio for literally five minutes- a short enough time for him to just hardly have very much of a conversation with her. And truthfully, if his conversation could have even been considered one, he had said not much more than, "I think you'd better get down here and have a look at Draco..." before twisting the knob in the opposite direction. Afterwards, he'd tossed the putrid thing away from himself, poured himself a tall cup of brandy, and ignored the fact that it would only add increasingly to his fading hangover in the next morning. But the possibility of a second hangover was far beyond his main worries, seeing how Draco Malfoy was quite literally a fractured mess on his living room couch at the moment. So, being so, he drank up his liquor, stared back at Draco with glassy eyes, and waited for that awful knock to come.

Truly, he wished it hadn't had to come to this. His anxious waiting around was even making him feel more and more insecure. With Draco passed out and completely incapable, there was not much Goyle could think to do once Hermione did in fact arrive at his doorstep. And this was a woman he hadn't seen in years, let alone ever expressed any attitude towards liking. Besides, despite being very much a changed man, Goyle couldn't think of one thing more he'd rather loathed the idea of than bending over backwards for Hermione. Perhaps he was far too prideful, perhaps the old Gregory Goyle was, while very minutely, still kicking around inside him someplace. What had Goyle expected anyways- to be well behaved at all times? Well, he may have been reformed but he was not some pansy little prat. Not by a long shot. However, despite all the build up he'd collected for himself, he managed to loose a significant amount of confidence as the minutes wandered on by.

The sudden banging that hit his front door's surface was loud enough to make him jump. Literally, the contents of his massive liquor glass had managed almost to reach the ceiling in the process of his scare. He fixed his robe and gave Draco one last passing glance before shuffling over the the front door, grumbling grumpily to himself. And it wasn't as if he did not understand the severity of it all; instead, it was the sheer strangeness of it all that was only adding on to his current misery. Thus, as he made his way begrudgingly over the to the door, he reached out his hand, attempted bitterly to swallow his everlasting pride, and pulled the knob with harsh apprehension.

"How is he?" It was the first thing Hermione had said, the very moment he'd pulled the door open even just a crack. He hadn't even had the chance to analyze her, she'd spoken so fast, so ready with her words that it had even admittedly intimidated him. Before hand, however, she had been pacing at the doorstep, her hands sweaty and fidgeting behind her back. She was anxious, almost desperate looking, with deep bags underneath her otherwise rather intensely brown eyes.

"He's... indoors," was the most Goyle could spit out, due to the instant unease he'd felt. Curiously, he did nothing as Hermione rushed by him, her face sweaty from worry and concern. She did not bother to excuse herself and, while she wasn't rude about her intrusion, she headed straight to the couch, having immediately spotted the white figure of Draco on the cushions.

It took Goyle a moment, however, to take a bit of a better breather. Surreal as it was having Hermione in his house, he knew that he could not just stand around looking like a bloody idiot. Instead, he forced his feet to advance forward, at a slow enough pace to reach her unnoticed. But Goyle swallowed, shook the oncoming intoxication from his chilly bloodstream, and stopped just before the kitchen table, leaning on the surface of it for something much of a well-needed support system. Under her hoarse breath, Hermione whispered, "_lumos!"_from her spot next to Draco and the tip of her extended wand lit up intensely. In the bright light, Goyle could see her again. The light lit up her face, showing to him a soaking wet visage, her brunette hair plastered to her shinning forehead. She was pretty, even prettier than Goyle had remembered. Additionally, she seemed to have grown into herself, as well. Sculpted, her face looked almost completely flawless as it sat on top of a well constructed jaw line. And, despite it all, she still seemed to be the very same person; just as odd and bookworm-ish as she had always been. Her eyes still ached of the same essence of knowledge, and her hair still fell with a lively puffiness that she probably could not possibly contain. Though he hated himself for thinking it, Goyle found it slightly refreshing that she hadn't grown up and changed completely. She did not notice him there, analyzing her curiously, either; a factor that Goyle was, in fact, very much appreciative of. It didn't change the fact that she was Hermione Granger, didn't change the fact that, standing there awkwardly, Goyle still felt uncomfortable.

Her head snapped up. Her admittedly pretty lips, they asked quickly, "what happened to him?"

A part of him wanted to tell her: "how the hell should I know?". But what good was being immature? He'd just barely escaped lengthy prison time, thanks to Hermione and, even so, their previous history did not matter with Draco's situation so obviously more important. Still, he could think of only Hermione and Draco, the two dating and spending time together and talking back and forth on the tiny Muggle radio for hours on end. In his younger years, the idea would have made him sick. Now, it only just made him feel digressed- singled out and not exactly over himself. Instead of his initially planned out reply, Goyle shrugged, said morosely, "I dunno. He was sleepwalking and-"

"Sleepwalking?" Hermione asked, seemingly to no one other than herself. Her face twisted and she looked even more concerned. "He never told me he'd been sleepwalking..." There was a slight pause in her own personal mutterings and she glanced back down at Draco, her eyes wide and uncertain. For a second she looked both conflicted with her own self-deemed stupidity and her blatant ability to have been hurt so easily.

Goyle shifted in his spot near the table and chairs. "Well," he said, feeling slightly strange with just standing there, "if it makes you feel any better, he didn't tell me, either." With that, he focused back down at his glass of alcohol and took a long sip, something of a congratulations for being so cooperative. Hermione, however, only sighed. Her soggy eyes shut and she pushed her back against the end of the couch, leaned her head backwards, and then glanced back up at the set of five fingers on Draco's floppy hand. For a split second, she looked as if she was about to shove it away from her, but then, she lifted her own hand upwards, and interlaced her fingers through his before leaning backwards and settling begrudgingly.

She readjusted herself, sighed out yet again, and pushed her flimsy hair to the side of her face. "Why's he got his parka on?"

"I took him to Elaine Galler's," Goyle said back, noting how clever she was for even noticing such a thing. Perhaps her intelligence was something he'd forgotten about her, though it did used to annoy him back in his younger years. "Galler," he said, musing, "she didn't help much."

"Bloody insane that woman is," Hermione responded in an instant. On her face, she'd sketched the look of pure annoyance and aggravation.

But Goyle lifted an eyebrow. For such an expression, there was undoubtedly something behind it. However, he did not approach her to make further conversation. With his foot, he kicked out the small wooden chair at the table and flopped down on it. He cocked his chin up towards her, "definitely. Got into a bit of a spat with her myself, actually." Goyle's face crunched. He looked a bit uneasy with himself as he added slowly, "and my entire plan to have her help him sort of went downhill from there, really."

This, however, seemed to grab Hermione's attention. She glanced away from the spot of nothingness she'd been glaring at in the wall and turned her head towards him. With narrow eyes she said, curiously back, "bit of a spat?"

Goyle glanced down, swirled the contents of his glass around with a wave of his wand. Wincing, he remembered slamming the door of Elaine Galler's office and almost knocking Draco's upside down floating body on the doorframe in the process, "well, a bit more than a bit."

Hermione's face lit up. Still, she instantly became more solemn and looked back down at her knees, bringing them both up to her chest slowly. "Well," she said grumbling, "she deserved it, I'm sure."

The dampness about Hermione's face was, in all aspects, a dead give away. Despite her blatant prettiness, she looked completely spent. Nonetheless, in her defense she had been woken up in the middle of the night for an emergency. And, though he still could not help his bitterness towards her, he, as a changed person, thought it almost inconsiderate to not offer her something to drink. So, being as kind as he figured he could, he lifted his glass and let the liquid twinkle slightly before saying out loud, "fancy a glass?"

"More than you know," Hermione said, sighing and releasing her hand from Draco's. She did so gently, though, and once she'd let his fingers go from hers, she placed his hand back on his chest gently. However, her advancement towards Goyle was almost desperately greedy, she even managed to stumble in her steps towards him, almost too eager for the alcohol itself. When she sat at the table, she all but sunk into the wooden chair, crooked her legs out at the knee, and looked as if she were about to slump into a messy heap. But Goyle didn't skip a beat. Extremely used to the sort of need, he reached for the wine bottle on the counter, popped off the cork, and filled her glass to the rim. But Hermione's eyes did not widen. Rather unimpressed, she said softly, "er- you got anything else that'll do the trick?"

In all the years Gregory Goyle had spent thinking that he had the bookworm figured out, he was almost positive that he'd missed something. Besides, maybe Hermione wasn't so easy to figure out, after all. He smiled, amused to himself, but did not let it show up on his face. Instead, nodding, he leapt from the table seat and bounded over to retrieve a bottle of glistening yellow beer. He didn't say a word, but instead lifted it and cocked his eyebrow upwards.

"That's the ticket," Hermione breathed, looking more relieved than she did excited. Her brown eyes followed him as he popped off the lid and slid it over the surface of the table back to her lightly. Quickly, Hermione wrapped her fingers around it, downed a third of it in one sip, and then leaned back, red in the face. Despite her eagerness to pour the liquor down her throat, Hermione's true issue was with Elaine Galler. With Draco Malfoy unconscious on Goyle's living room couch, a million list of awful possibilities flooded through her mind. However, she swallowed the drink, he adjusted herself, and asked, "so what _did_ you do to piss Elaine Galler off so much?"

"You mean what did _she_ do." Goyle corrected. Maybe it was the drinks he'd already consumed, but he was surprised at the ease he was feeling with her. Of course, he could still feel slight tension, couldn't deny the urge to want to hex her, but something was different. Glancing back at Draco, Goyle could almost practically picture the two together. The thought of accepting it so oddly easily gave him a bit of a chill.

Hermione glanced up. "Sure," she said uncertainly, "what did _she_ do?"

It was Goyle's turn to down his drink. He winced as it bitterly rushed down his throat and then wiped his mouth on his robe sleeve. Feeling a bit uneasy, he said nervously, "she uh... she recommended Draco look into Hobb's Institution."

Momentarily, Hermione froze. Her face seemed almost like a mixture of shock and fury. However, once the moment faded, she glanced down, slumped forward and said, "I know," in a way that was groggy and sad and miserable all at the same time. "I've known... I just... I c-couldn't tell him."

"I couldn't either," Goyle admitted, shrugging. Not that he'd had the chance to tell Draco about Galler's plans, but something told him he wouldn't have been able to anyways. He shot a side glance back at Draco, hating him completely for a moment. Maybe if he hadn't been so fucking miserable it would have been a hell of a lot easier. Of course, if he hadn't been so miserable, things wouldn't have even been this way to begin with. They both sat still for a second, in the middle of each equally thinking, "so now what?" On the couch, Malfoy gave a little sigh and turned over on his side before falling silent again.

Hermione's face then fell in a way that was almost far too visible. Slumping down ever so slightly, Hermione averted her eyes back to Malfoy. The reddening shade tainting her visage was almost far too much and, even though he'd felt an odd tinge of fading loathing towards her, Goyle was far too consumed by the well-being of Draco, as well. As awkward as she'd felt being around Gregory Goyle, she couldn't help the immense concern she'd felt towards Draco. As if the mere thought of it would make her ill at any given moment, Hermione's face drained and she made quickly for her beer bottle, downing the contents with one sip. Attempting to ignore the strangeness of the situation, she said exhaling, "wow, this is... kind of weird, isn't it?"

Goyle didn't have to bother asking what it was that Hermione was talking about. He'd known right away. The mere presence of Hermione in his house was a bit unnerving and frightening all at the same time. Admittedly, he said with some bitterness, "yeah, well... I never thought I'd see the day..."

He counted the passing minutes. They flew by quickly and he considered the number of chances he'd had to bring up the subject of Hermione's relationship with Draco. Though it had only been a couple of hours since he'd found out about their dating, it was an idea that he still couldn't get used to- and would probably never get used to. And despite the powerful urge he'd felt to bring up the subject, he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. Mentally, he cursed himself for being what he'd considered to timid to ask, and instead glanced back down into the surface of his drink with a sigh. Hermione, however, began talking again. She looked even more guilty when she said, "I found out about the man who attacked him... about Beevis."

Only raising an eyebrow, Goyle glanced up back at her.

"He's an absolute lunatic," she added, almost as if such a thing had been expected. "He's at Hobb's, too." Deflating, her shoulders dropped painfully, "I can't let them send Draco there."

For a moment, Goyle had forgotten about his remaining unease towards Hermione. Shaking his head, he said back, "I won't let that happen," and then fell strangely silent, as if he hadn't expected engaging in such a strong conversation with Hermione in the first place. However, as if just in time, Draco's unconscious body gave one more timid little flinch and his chest rose high before something twitched behind his shut eyelids. Head lolling to one side, his thin shoulders rose and a hoarse little moan sounded out from his throat. Hermione's eyes shot back to Goyle for a second and then she stumbled upwards, tripping over her own two feet, as she made her way anxiously towards him.

And she was right to have been so jumpy. Draco's movement was not just that of uncomfortable sleep. Though first he'd shut his eyes tighter, the pair opened in fragments before staring up at the ceiling in a glassy way, as if they were not truly seeing a single thing. Hermione's eyes, on the other hand, widened immensely. Her chest dropped and she gasped quickly, almost too thrilled to notice Goyle as he stammered away from his own wooden seat. Though the color had significantly returned to Hermione's pale face, she remained almost completely uncertain about her next move.

Malfoy's eyes swiveled around. His clammy hand on his head, he moved his gray eyes over to Hermione and blinked. "'Mione?"

"How are you?" Hermione breathed, not directly answering him, "how are you feeling?"

"Really bad," Draco choked in a voice that was almost even painful to hear. There was something completely concerning about the green color on his face, the deep bags underneath his eyes, the dried trail of spit running down the corner of his mouth. He slurred his speech as if he had been drinking. Saying, "what happened?" he tried to sit up, but was fairly unsuccessful.

Slowly moving over to Malfoy, Goyle watched Hermione glance over at him, looking rather clueless. The expression of loss was stenciled on her face and Goyle offered, "you went a bit nutters there, mate... got a bit ill, passed out-" However, Draco's expression showed that he wasn't really focused on what it was that Goyle was saying. Instead, he watched the sight of Goyle and Hermione together as if he were still hallucinating. The pale color on his face was all telling, the widening of his eyes showed the look of pure confusion. Consistently, his eyes darted back and forth between the two. Then, finally, he took a big breath in and made way towards the arm rest of Goyle's comfortable couch.

"I-I've got to get up," he informed them and, despite Hermione rushing forward to support him, he clung to the edge of the couch before stumbling to his feet like a newborn.

"Draco," Goyle and Hermione said at once together, their hands reached out uneasily. "Oy, mate... s-sit back down, you-"

However, Malfoy's eyes found his discarded broomstick and he said sloppily, "I n-need t-to get back to the Manor. M-My dad's p-probably been out looking for m-me." Hermione was, nonetheless, far too quick for him. She darted towards the broom with eager fingers and lifted the thing up from the ground hastily. Instead of speaking, she glanced over towards Goyle, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. As Goyle held Malfoy up unsteadily, he glanced back at her timidly.

"Come on, Draco," Hermione said after a while, "I'll take you home, okay?" And despite the initial objections from Draco, Goyle helped him stumble over to the thing, push himself on it behind Hermione, and flop forwards helplessly against her back. When she could hear the sore little groans from Malfo, she leaned forward and whispered to Goyle, "I'll call you when we get to the house." She then reached behind her, took Malfoy's weak hands by the wrist, and wrapped them around her wait until he gripped her back. Her eyes fell to the open door and Goyle at the end of it. In his dark robe, his entire torso almost blended into the night. Breathing out a long and forceful sigh, she allowed the broom to rise up from the ground and then the two were out of sight.


	14. Screaming Kettle

**Vonne:** I'm going to make it my goal now to make these introductions as short as possible, considering I am wanting to finish these old chapters up with as soon as physically possible. Still, I will take the time whenever I can to answer all of your questions. For the millionth time, I would like to thank you for all the support you have all continuously given to me. I appreciate your responses more than you know!

**Doni: **Definitely. I think it's important for someone in that state to have people that are close to him. Goyle's a nice person to have for support because he went through everything Draco went through, too. They went through it together. So it's definitely really nice to have him around. Hermione did go through the same ordeal, but her experience was far, far different. She's still a nice balance for Malfoy though, in that sense, I think. So, you're right. At least he's got two people looking out for him.

**Psychic City: **Thank you! I'm happy that you've decided to update, also. Finally! ;)

**Lynn: **I love having readers that are new to these chapters. It's nice and I feel like I don't have to hurry. I will be updating these chapters as soon as possible. Whenever I get a satisfactory amount of reviews, I will post up the newest chapter right away. Thank you for submitting reviews even without a sign-in name. Of course, as you know, it is appreciated.

**Carl: **Of course! Here's the next chapter for you! :)

**Lively McBrighten: **Okay, definitely! Here's the next chapter! I've posted it up only a little bit later than I have been, but I'm hoping it was worth that wait for you, knowing that you're also new to this story! So, please let me know what you think of it when you finish reading it! I'd love to hear back from you!

**LeCandeh: **Oh good! I'm glad that you enjoyed this one. To be honest, I'd forgotten what this chapter was about for myself. Then I had to actually go back and refresh my own memory!

**McLanna: **It's so funny that you asked that. I definitely didn't intend 'Dull Boy' to be part of 'Rude Boy' when I first started writing that chapter, but when I DID eventually notice it, I kept it intentionally. I'm not a huge Rihanna fan, but I thought someone would notice it somewhere down the line. Actually, most of these chapter titles are taken from reference of something else. I bet you can figure them all out. This one, however, isn't really anything clever. HAHA.

**Christina: **Thank you! I'm so glad that you enjoyed reading all the past twelve chapters up to this point! I hope you like this chapter, too! Let me know what you think!

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**Chapter Thirteen:**  
**Screaming Kettle**

Her light little foot hit the mess on the floor with a silent crack. Then, as the slight squeak hit her ears, she reeved back, her free hand flying up to her chest. Never in her life time did she think she'd see the house for a third time. The Manor, in all its tragic glory, was just as tall and massive and horrible as she'd remembered. However, she managed to sigh, swallowing her nerves with what she'd felt to be a rather unsuccessful gulp. Then, lovingly, she slipped back off from the broom, lowering both of her feet to the floor this time, though her hands reached out once again towards Malfoy. Slowly, she lifted her hand to his upper back and slipped her other one through the skinny bars of his five fingers.

She asked him uneasily, "can you stand up?" and the stagger in Malfoy's step was all the answer she'd truly needed. Though, to her dismay, he faked a forceful smile and slipped his fingers away.

"'M fine," he said, still sleepy despite having slept for hours, "thanks." Malfoy's smile was however, not contagious; Hermione's wiped away from her face even faster than either of the two could have anticipated. As the ping of guilt struck Malfoy miserably, his hands fumbled back up and he took Hermione's clumsily. And though Hermione's expression was all but that of satisfaction, Draco's own visage fell and he said back quietly, "sorry... I h-haven't been thinking."

Shaking her head dizzily, Hermione's hands flung upwards to her hair. She shoved the thick mane out of her face and smirked, "'s okay," she told him back, feeling more sorry for him than hurt for herself. Besides, what did she have to be hurt about, anyway? There were far more important things for Hermione to bother herself worrying about than whether or not Draco fancied her as much as she did at the moment. In fact, she'd even managed to mentally curse her own preoccupation with the subject. Why was it that her stomach could not stop fluttering, her nerves could not quit jittering, even in a situation so unquestionably serious. "Malfoy... you should sit down, okay? You should rest."

Eyes watching Malfoy's shadow find its way to his bedroom wall, Hermione said nothing. Though Draco, on the other hand, reached out his palm, shaking it slowly. The distressed look on his face made Hermione's insides churn. "No," he said, wincing slightly, "no, I'm not tired."

"You can hardly stand up straight," Hermione contradicted, blinking rapidly at the obvious delusion Draco resided in. The tint of discomfort was still marked across his face, his blond hair still greasy and flat against his sweaty forehead.

But despite his more than blatant nausea, Draco's head continued to wobble back and forth. "I'll be fine," he insisted, his voice a bit stronger than before.

Something twitched behind Malfoy's petrified expression. The agony on his face doubled and, wincing, his chest rose and fell messily. It was something Hermione had just barely noticed and probably wouldn't have if she hadn't been paying an immense amount of attention to Malfoy in the first place. Momentarily, she attempted to remain quiet, to let him do as he pleased. But the pestering little jerk she'd felt made it almost impossible. "But," she began, glancing back down at his white button up that stayed slightly untucked from his black trousers. Something other than her insisting advice had been bothering him and she could tell by the slight flashes that blinked behind his eyes.

As if he figured she hadn't been paying close attention, he glanced around wildly before pressing his eyes shut and sliding his clammy palm back up to his forehead. "but...but you-"

"Hermione." For the first time in a long time, Hermione could hear the stern tone in Draco's otherwise hoarse voice. He stopped glanced around, looked at her and locked his eyes within hers. They were wet and moist, glistening with an orb-like glassiness. "I'm _fine, _I promise. Just... please... t-trust me, okay?" But Hermione was not stupid. Her overwhelming intelligence told her that she was certain he was once again lying to her. However, the look in his eyes did not show that he was concerned about doing so. Instead, he looked more and more focused on whatever it was that he was hearing around him... or whatever it was he was seeing. But this time, because he'd asked her so seriously, Hermione decided not to press the issue. She swallowed, pressed her lips together, and nodded bluntly with her mouth shut tight.

He was wrong. Wrong, _wrong, wrong_. He was not alright, he was not fine. And all the while, Hermione loathed herself for choosing to say a word. Her thin arms crossed heavily over her chest and she thumped against the wall next to Malfoy, who clanged his forehead against the surface of it and moaned in a draining tone. Hermione breathed out, both worried and frustrated all together. Her vibrant eyes scanned the scattered bedroom. Having still left his bedroom in an absolute wreckage, the most visible pieces of decoration stood as nothing more than a large pile of unnecessary clutter on the floor. From the looks of it, the house was still empty and Hermione guessed that Lucius and Narcissa had been having quite the conversation with the Ministry. But she could breathe again and, fortunately, she exhaled one rather impressive sigh of relief.

She said conclusively, "alright, what next? Are you just going to... to stand with your head against the wall?"

Draco's voice was bitter as his eyes moved back to her. Glaring, he said defensively, "I was thinking about it, yeah."

"Well that sounds progressive," Hermione counteracted, rolling her eyes around in a circle. She did so in fragments, glancing up at the ceiling before swinging her pupils back in Draco's slumped direction. The two of them stared at one another for a considerably long while before Draco's shoulders fell and his face reddened. He winced slightly and raised his free hand to his forehead before his face unwillingly dropped. He squeezed his expression tighter and breathed out shakily. Then, giving up, he turned around and leaned back against the wall as Hermione had.

"Okay," Malfoy said, defeated, "okay."

"Alright," Hermione said, repeating after him. As she did so, a slight smile took to arching back on her face. She had won and she'd known it. And yet, she stilled managed to feel sorry for him, as he stood there and suffered from whatever it was that had been so mercilessly plaguing him. Thus, she ignored the fact that she was in the Manor, the one house that had still managed to give her the creeps. The Manor, that wasn't the main issue now- not anymore. And though she knew that she could hardly help it, it was Draco Malfoy who had stolen the majority of her remaining mindset. Being the mature woman that she was, she stuffed away her fear of the lingering old home, pushed away all the awful ghosts that it had brought up from her past. Instead, she lifted her hand, twiddled with a single strand of her fluffy brunette hair and asked timidly, "would you like me to make you some tea?"

Draco's eyes pressed themselves shut. His face tinted to a burnt scarlet and he nodded with fast paced aggression. He opened his glassy eyes only in time to see her smile and nod as she moved towards the door conclusively, first stalling at the doorframe, and then stumbling out into the darkness of the hall.

* * *

Hermione Granger's trembling hands reached outwards, her fingers grasping, her heart pounding. Then, when she finally found the contained tea kettle at the back of the cabinet, she yanked her hand backwards, retrieving the thing with relieved aggression. The kettle came in sudden contact with her heaving chest and, cradling it desperately, she stumbled backwards, breathed out, and shut her eyes. The frazzled her that was unsettling around her face made her look as if she'd run a mile, the flushed and rosy tint to her puffy cheek gave her instantly away.

Her eyes glanced around the kitchen, watched the darkness that enveloped it completely. The walls were intimidating, even as the benign little slabs of plaster that they were. The mansion stood and seemed to stare at her, analyzing her every single move. But what was she afraid of, anyways? After all, it was only a house; merely a structure that had been laid on the earth by humans such as herself. There was nothing in the interior of it that she could sensibly fear, nothing that could come and get her now. The ghosts, they were gone. The mere memories of the past, that was all they were- memories.

"Breathe, Granger," she told herself under her breath as she moved towards the stove and pulled her wand from her open jacket pocket. Flicking it lifelessly, she lit up the stove and watched the flames cradle the large metal kettle selfishly. A house was a house, and Hermione was not going to allow herself to get distracted from the tea, from Draco upstairs.

She wasn't a little girl anymore and stories of ghosts and haunted houses did not phase her. At least, she hoped not. The last time she'd been in the house, the time before the simple time she'd stepped in Draco's bedroom days ago, was a time she could not forget for the life of her. Like a flood, the scene of it rushed back to her, freezing her in the spot before the kettle and stove helplessly. In her mind's eye, she could see herself, held up by Bellatrix Lestrange, whose laugh bounced off the walls and echoed through the kitchen around her. And from her spot in the eating room, she could see the large mantle over the fireplace, could see the exact same spot that it all happened at. As a sharp pain shot through her body, her numb hand found the spot over her heart and she rubbed it apprehensively.

The sound of Bellatrix's laugh remained clear and loud in her ear. She could hear the desperate yelling of Ron in the basement that she couldn't quite see. Even in the darkness, her photographic memory brought the white sight of Draco in the corner back to her vision. She could still see the memory of him standing there, his back facing away from her, a cold sweat just barely tainting his pale face. And Bellatrix, she asked her nephew, "_what should we do to her first?"_

"_Yeah, Draco," _someone purred in Hermione's mind. She'd remembered the voice, but not the face. "_Yeah, I'm sure you've got plenty in mind..."_

But even in her memory, she could only see Draco's back, covered in a white shirt, stuck to his spine with an immense amount of unwanted sweat. And when he finally did turn around, when Bellatrix grabbed for his wet shoulders with extended spidery fingers, Hermione remembered his face. His eyes, bloodshot and puffy, were surrounded in a pair of matching purple bruises. His blond hair was dripping with grease. His bottom lip was split, and an open scar was cut like a long slice at the side of his skull. She remembered how his pupils glanced over at her, how their eyes both locked together, and how an immense wave of stress took him over instantly. She remembered his misery, his fear, remembered everything all in that split second. Then, she could almost physically hear the grumble he'd answered his aunt with that night. Could almost literally make out his voice when he said, "_I d-dunno. I..."_

_"Well," _hissed another voice, sharp and barely there at the same time. She could recall the way the Death Eaters whispered and barked all at the same time. "_If you can't decide, then I'm sure you won't mind if I just make the decision for you."_

Something screamed out around her and Hermione snapped herself away from her horrifying memories. Yelling out on the stove, the tea kettle cried out for her, too hot and all the more ready. Blinking, she seemed to snap out of her delirium, pushing the hair from her eyes and lunging back towards the stove before before lifting up the thing and swinging it over towards the counter. She didn't need to bring up memories from the past. What she needed to do was pour herself and Draco two cups of tea. What she needed to do was climb back up the stairs, deliver it to him, and relax.

Breathing in harshly, Hermione Granger stumbled back into the dining table seat behind her and watched the rising steam as it rose smokily from the spout of the piping hot kettle.

* * *

Draco Malfoy had not moved an inch from his spot on the wall and he was beginning to scare even himself. As territorial as he'd become of his simple little spot, he slumped down the front of it, his long legs out in front of him in a twig-like manner. He pressed his head in his hands, feeling the immense rush that flowed mercilessly through it. Whatever had happened to him at Goyle's was a mystery even to him but, then again, he'd come to expect such odd behavior. Still, the fear of his faltering sanity sent unwanted shivers down his weak spine. His heart beat thunderously in his sternum and he felt rather short on necessary breath.

Something outside grumbled, but Draco was sure that whatever had made the noise was only just something further snapping in his mind. Then he leaned backwards, cocked his chin up to the ceiling, and watched the blurred slate above him twist viciously. Like it or not, he was unsure how long it would take for him to get used to the unsightly bruises and the unclear vision. Whatever was happening to him, the side effects seemed to be everlasting. His eyes glistening back up at the top of the house, he considered what living like a crazy person was going to play out like. Inquisitively, he wondered how long it would take for him to go full blown mad.

How long, he wondered, until he was the mirror image of one Leroy Beevis. Horrified, he wondered how long it would take until he was wandering the streets spitting bogus remarks and prophecies. By then he'd be too far gone, too far plummeted in his madness. And, morosely, he ran his shaky hand through his mop of disgusting and greasy blond head of hair. With his luck, the way it had ben playing out lately, Draco Malfoy had come to expect that such a time was not too far ahead of him.

The whispering in his head, it had been looming around him ever since he had woke up at Goyle's house. Having never left him, it now buzzed about his head like a lingering fly that would just not let him be. The voice, high-pitched and snake-like, twisted around his head and messed with his faulty mind. The messages were sent to him as different commands and comments, both hostile and gentle. Voldemort, with his manipulative charm and haunting whisper, seemed to never have left him. As Malfoy clutched his head and suppressed a suffocated little sob, he could hear the man whisper back to him, _"not even death can prevent me from finishing what I'd started."_

Draco's teeth dug hard into his lower lip, drawing a trail of scarlet blood. His eyes, bloodshot and bruised, glanced around the darkened room. There was no sight of the dead man this time, much to Draco's relief. However, his voice was loud enough to make up for his lack of presence. Malfoy's hands moved up his skull and he wrapped them around the back of his neck before slamming his head down on his raised knees. Somewhere mixed into the sounds of Voldemort's hissing, a small little mumble shot out through the open window before his bed.

And the sound outside the window went furiously, "ouch. Ugh- _dammit."_

Malfoy's head shot up, his eyes still red and filled with tears. But he whisked himself up to a stand-point and anxiously wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his white shirt. Stumbling towards the window, Malfoy almost lost it on the discarded pile of possessions he'd left on the floor. However, once he'd made his way over to his goal point successfully, he could then see it. The shadow, which was slightly short, beautifully curvy, and brunette, saw was struggling in the branches of the tall tree above his house. "Come _on_, you bloody bastard!" the harsh voice said, not noticing Draco as he stood above. The shadow's fingers were tugging with the long skirt, which was notably snagged on one of the sharp tree branches. "You useless piece of-"

_"Pansy?"_

"Draco!" The voice shouted. Pansy Parkinson's head whipped upward, her short brunette hair falling perfectly around her face. The cold wind had made it wavy and a bit frizzy. She dropped the fabric, though it remained tangled on the branch. In her high heels, she looked almost completely ridiculous climbing up the bulk of the steep branches. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

Embarrassed instantly, Malfoy's hands flung back up to his face. He desperately took to wiping his face for a second time, hopeful that she would not notice his current distress. Always the actor, he put on a content expression and cleared his voice, hoping for a steady and casual sounding tone. "W-What are you doing in my backyard?"

"I told you," Pansy said again, twisting her face up in a frustrated way. Hadn't he just head her clarify. Repeating herself, she yelled back at him as she tried to force herself higher on the tree, "I've been looking for you everywhere. You just kind of... left the other day, remember? I wasn't done seeing you."

Fuzzy, Malfoy knew that he was in no state to deal with such a situation. Hermione Granger was downstairs, in his house, at the very moment. Pansy, as she stood rockily on the branches below him, was only unaware unless she remained outside. Though Pansy did not stop with her climb. Her hands finally freed her skirt from the branch and she smiled before lifting a second foot up on the nearest branch. She was making fast pace, too. Only two feet away from the window ledge, Draco wondered how long she'd been climbing up the tree before managing to make it so high. But Malfoy had no time to be impressed. Instead, panic overtook him with sudden despair. "You... you c-can't come up here," he stuttered, glancing over his shoulder lightly. "My dad-"

"Is with the Ministry, I know," Pansy added, finishing off Draco's sentence with sure confidence. Her right foot lifted her body up even further. "I just saw him and your mother." Smiling, Pansy put on a grin that she might have though made her look cute. Instead, the smug smile looked only like she was up to something questionable. "They sure are a determined pair," she added playfully, "aren't they?"

An entirely new feeling of stress overtook Malfoy's wobbling posture. From the floor underneath him, he could hear the metal clang of Hermione handling metal. He could almost hear the tea as she poured it in to their separate glasses. The voice of Voldemort in his mind was just beginning to die down, much to his relief, however. It was Pansy who was, quite literally, on the rise. Still gawking up at him with a proud and gleeful beam, Pansy had finally advanced herself enough to be at the top. With that, she glanced back down, inhaled at the steep drop that she'd just recently conquered, and then shifted her focus back up at Draco. "Well," she said, keeping her expression a lastingly satisfied one, "I think we should just... you know, finish where we left off."

Then, as if her idea was enough to convince him, she thrust out her hand, which was covered in a glove of soft emerald velvet. "Pansy... I'm not feeling-"

Once again, Pansy's expression faltered. "I'll make you feel better," she said in a sultry tone and then reached out for the windowsill herself, once she'd realized Malfoy wasn't about to offer his hand. Anxious, she pulled her slender figure through the window's opening and placed both her feet steadily on the messy ground. Seeing that his bedroom was still an absolute mess, she only grimaced before turning her back to the wall and facing Draco with an all new look of desire. "Now," she said again, "where were we?"

A sudden bang sounded out from the downstairs section of the massive manor and Malfoy's face drained of any possible color. Pansy's once gentle expression morphed strangely. A look of absolute terror overtook her and she seemed to have assumed that someone had broken in to the house. The anxiety-ridden flick behind her eyes became instantly obvious and Malfoy felt his stomach twist. Nausea swept through him bitterly. "What was that?" Pansy asked, her voice a thin little whisper.

But Malfoy was at a loss. For a split second, he was sure that the correct thing to do was to yell out, however, he could see Hermione's lingering shadow before he could manage to do so, could see her long, slender leg as it stuck out through the opening of the doorframe. "Draco," Hermione's voice said, making both Pansy and Draco's finch for different reasons entirely, "I think after some tea you'll start to- oh."

Hermione's brown eyes glanced back and forth. With her fingers looped around two different cups of steaming hot tea, it was a miracle that she did not drop them on the floor. Instead, she remained frozen, her pretty mouth opened slightly, her shoulders dropped in an extremely low manner. Pansy, she stood with her eyes wide and her mouth clenched shut. In her tight emerald green dress, she no longer look sultry, but stupid and rather immensely unnecessary. Behind Pansy, Malfoy couldn't help the beat red color that washed over his entire visage. He felt even more sick than he could have ever imagined and almost lost his balance as he stood watching in the back. He breathed out, hoarsely, and his flimsy head of hair fell limply across his forehead.

"Granger?" Pansy squealed, the first to speak out of the three, "Hermione Granger?"

Her gloved fists were balled up tightly, her eyes flashing bitterly. Even in the darkness, the lines on her pretty face were obvious. But Hermione, however, seemed almost too uneasy. Like Draco, she stood like a statue, her eyes slowly finding Draco's. On the other hand, Pansy's voice rang high again. "What... what the _fuck?" _Then, on the end of her spiky little heels, she spun around to face Draco, whose chest dropped nervously. He couldn't, however, take his eyes off of Hermione. "What is _she_ doing here?" Pansy asked loudly, thrusting her finger out behind her, shoving it angrily in the direction of Hermione. Her face had never looked so red, her eyes almost caught up in twinkling flames.

But Draco couldn't help himself. He wasn't prepared for this, could never had imagined that he'd have had to prepare himself for this. As he remained glancing at Hermione, he tried to stop the croak that tainted his voice. "I..." he stammered uselessly, "s-she was just..."

Standing still, Hermione could not look away from Draco as well. Her chest dropped when she thought of him. Sympathetic, she wasn't sure whether she should step in, or sneak out slowly. Though Pansy had Draco in a trap and, even with the delicate cups in her hands, she managed to step forward. What was it with her need to protect Draco? Was it the natural motherly instinct that she was sure all women possessed, or was it the fact that she was almost certain that Draco could not truly manage to protect himself? "I've... I've b-been helping Draco out with some... Ministry issues. He was interested in a job at the... office."

Pansy's face twisted. Tossing her head to one side, she said flatly, "don't you dare patronize me." Then, spinning around for the second time, she watched Draco carefully. "Draco," she added with a bluntly harsh tone of voice. But when he did not answer her instantly, Pansy seemed to get the hint. For a moment she looked as if she didn't believe it, but as the moments passed, the more she became convinced. Furious, her face immediately burned with the harsh shade of scarlet that matched Malfoy's embarrassed expression. Her pulse pounded and her pounding heart was almost obvious even to Hermione at the other side of the room. "This is who Goyle's been on about, huh? Hermione _Granger?"_

Then she tossed her head backwards, laughing sarcastically as she pushed the messy brown hair from her face. "Hermione Granger, seriously, Draco?" There was a look of both hurt and bitterness in her anxious voice. Her eyes flashed and she dug her hands in her pocket, feeling for her thin little wand. Outraged, she added, "... a mudblood?"

In the corner of the room, Hermione stiffened. She glanced back up at Draco, whose eyes shot back up from the ground. For a moment, he looked as if he were about to pounce on Pansy, but instead of instantly doing so, he came back with, "don't call her that," instead.

Face twisting, Pansy glanced back at Hermione and then returned her focus to Malfoy. "Call her _what?_" she said bitterly, her lips curling, "a mudblood?" She analyzed his face, noting that he was, in fact, completely serious. "What," she laughed angrily, "you're not kidding?" Her brows fell, her hands slipped from her side. "Draco," she said sternly, "what the hell happened to you?"

But Malfoy only cleared his throat. He couldn't help it. With the sick notion churning mercilessly inside his stomach and the sweep of immense nausea in his throat, he said timidly glancing back down, "I think you should go..."

"This I should go?" Pansy chuckled again, though her smile was certainly not an amused one. "You know what? You're right. You're absolutely right. I should go. And I also think I should have a talk with your _father_ about this... relationship." Her bitterness was all the more blatant. "Or, better yet, the media. I think they'd have a hay day with this one, don't you Granger?" Instinctively, Hermione's first thought was her wand. She could have dropped the glasses to the ground if she hadn't been so horrified. Still, she couldn't help the threatening pulse that raged through her body. She both wanted to thrust the steaming hot coffee in Pansy's face, and stand in front of Draco like a human shield. To her dismay, however, she did neither.

When Pansy's threats were not addressed, the strong look on her face did not last. When her expression slipped from her visage, she looked only bitter. Then, though no one had said a word, she lifted her hand and sent her palm straight across Malfoy's already bruised cheek. The collision of skin sent a loud smack echoing throughout the entire bedroom, but Malfoy did not move a muscle. Instead, he seemed to try and avoid Hermione, his wet eyes locked this time only on Pansy. He did not look confused, however. The expression on his face was that of understanding, hurt, and humiliation. The blow had knocked his hair down over his forehead and had caused his cheek Hermione at once set the glasses aside, spilling the steaming tea over their edges as she did so. However, she only took several steps forward, drawing her wand out in front of her. The only noise that emitted from her throat was, "leave!"

Pansy paid Hermione no attention. Instead, she took one last step towards Draco, her finger jamming him in the chest. "You know what?" she said curtly, "you _are_ crazy." Then, with certain conviction, she pushed her way past Draco Malfoy, darted undauntedly towards Hermione and shoved her as she did so. Though she said not another word as she made her way down the long hall. The sound of her high heels sounded through the hallway and climbed down the stairs. Both Hermione and Draco stood in silence until they heard her finally reach the tile floor and pull the door open before conclusively slamming it harshly shut.


	15. Expecting the Unexpected

**Vonne: **I've had such a fun time reading all the reviews from the last chapter! I got ten reviews pretty quickly, which is all I need to update, and I'm loving that some of you are trying to guess where I got the titles for my chapters from. It's become kind of like a game for me. I'll say right now that 'Screaming Kettle' did not derive from anything, nor did 'Expecting the Unexpected'. But definitely some of the past chapters have and I'd be so interested to see if you could guess some of them. And no googling, either, cheaters! ;)

**Tragic Slytherin: **Yay! I am so glad to see that you've found 'Basket Case' again. You know, its funny, because I hadn't even realized that I'd accidentally deleted it until I received messages from other very pissed off users. What sucks is that I can't really progress forward yet and I feel like a lot of the old reviewers have gone away. But, good news is that this also brings in new readers and that's definitely made this accident a bit more of a happy one for me, at least. But still, I'm glad to hear from you again! We'll be caught up with chapter nineteen in a matter of days I hope!

**Doni: **Yeah, definitely. Malfoy's a good liar, and it takes so much for liars to not lie. Besides, Draco's a bit of a prideful thing, isn't he? :) I actually laughed at your comment about Pansy. She's so horrible, yet so fun to write. I'm glad that you're actually starting to hate her, because that's been the goal the whole while. Annoying little thing, she is, huh?

**Christina: **Thank you very much! To answer your question, no, I haven't taken any writing classes other than what was required for me back in high school. And college classes now, I guess. I've never been good at math or science, though, so at least I've got some talent SOMEPLACE. HAH, it was bound to be somewhere.

**McLanna: **Thanks a lot! I'm happy to hear that you like reading what I say back to all of you, because it makes all this extra time responding to you all well worth it. I'm happy that they are actually being read. 'Screaming Kettle' actually didn't come from anything, actually. It just fit with the story, go figure!

**Lively McBrighten: **Good! I'm glad that you enjoyed reading the last chapter because I had to go back and refresh my memory with that one, too. Unfortunately, I can't tell you what's going to happen in the future with the story- that would give it all away! But you're going to have to keep reading to find out.

**Psychic City: **AHAH, well, don't go dwelling on where I came up with the title for the last chapter, because I didn't have any inspiration with that one. It just really consisted of me skimming through the last chapter and picking out a sequence of words that sound chapter title worthy to me. See what happens when you don't plan ahead?

I have absolutely no clue where the other four reviewers went on my reviews page, but I'm certain that the four of you have disappeared for a moment. Of course, I'm certain that your reviews will turn up sooner or later and I'll feel like a jackass for forgetting you. So, early apologies now. I'm very sorry, if I'd have seen them there, they would not have been skipped, promise.

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**Chapter Fourteen:  
Expecting the Unexpected**

She'd told him she was going to fix it. Before she'd left, it was something she'd promised. But currently, as she sat at the kitchen table with her sore leg over the other, she'd wished that she'd never promised him anything. Nothing was fixed, nothing was better. As time passed by slowly, nothing seemed to progress in the slightest. And it was the time that was killing her, too. Every moment that passed as another second risked. Shakily, Hermione trust out her shaking hand and her clumsy fingers clung to the tea cup that she'd made herself. Sipping the hot liquid with shivering nerves, Hermione ran a clammy hand through her hair and slumped forward sloppily.

It had only been an hour or two since she'd left the Malfoy's manor and slumped back into the night. Draco hadn't said much since Pansy left out of the front door and, for the most part, he'd remained still, his face still tainted in that humiliated scarlet flush. Before she'd made her departure, she'd started toward him with her hands out in front of her. Her ready fingers made gently towards his and, picking up his sweaty palm, she'd told him that she would fix things. In a whisper that was hoarse and timid, she'd told him, "please, don't stress yourself about it. I'm going to make it okay." Even then, Hermione had sense that he hadn't believed her. As she sat at her kitchen table unsteadily sipping her cup of dangerously hot tea, she didn't quite blame him.

But, even now, she' strongly regretted leaving Draco on his own. The notion of leaving Malfoy to his thoughts was an idea that Hermione wasn't sure she was okay with in the first place. She should have known better, should have stayed with him at the house. He had been so miserable, though, so quiet and solemn. It was the words that he didn't say that unnerved her, the way he'd shook his head back and forth when she'd asked him if he was tired, if he needed to take a rest. When Pansy left, he'd scooted back to the bed mattress and flopped on top of it lifelessly. Hermione had watched him sit there frozen as the moments passed him by. His eyes did not move as they stared unblinkingly at the wall opposite him. Then, finally, when he'd slumped forward and buried his face into his knees, Hermione knew that she couldn't stick around anymore. What was she going to do? Sit around and allow him to be so... miserable?

Her plans, however, had not been going to smoothly. Where she was now was simply stuck between a rather pointed rock and a hard place. She'd run out of ideas, run out of well-needed hope. Where was her intelligence when she'd needed it... where was her infamous cleverness? Thus, Hermione groaned a heavy sigh and placed her head in her own hand, just as Draco had done in the minutes before she'd left him sitting there. In the stuffy space staring down at her close-up palms, Hermione breathed in, regained herself desperately. Her head slowly rose back up and her eyes shifted to the transparent window before her. It was sometime early in the morning, though Hermione was too preoccupied to check for the actual hour. As she watched the new sun rays just slowly begin to peak over the tops of the trees outside her window, she could just barely make out the reflection of the bedroom doors of both Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

And she couldn't do it alone. It was a realization that struck her miserably and far too heavily. Despite the fact that she may have believed it earlier, there was no more time to sit and deny it. The lingering fact, it dug at her relentlessly. It taunted her childishly and refused to leave her buzzing brain. Stupidity was not something that had crushed her so often but now she could not deny it. In her mind, she said it again and, even mentally, it was a tough one to spit out. "I cannot do this alone," she told herself, first in thought and then out loud to the stale air before her. Then, groaning, she ran her hand over her sweaty face and exhaled, once again looking back up at the bedroom doors in the window before her.

But she couldn't possibly be considering knocking on them, could she? In no possible way was she that much out of possible ideas. "Right?" she asked herself again, looking down at the reflection of herself in the surface of her liquid tea. Then, however, why was it that she was getting up from her seat? Why was it that she was heading towards the great hallway with her perspiring hands in the depths of her jacket pockets? But she could no longer ask herself 'why', for the answer had bluntly escaped her. The answer as to why it was that she was standing in between those two doors was one that could never come to her, one that would always remain a mystery. And perhaps it was desperation; cold, anxious desperation that was pushing her forward, forcing her hand in a clenched fist towards the front of Harry Potter's bedroom door.

"Hermione?"

The instant swoosh of Harry's room door opening in front of her caused her to stumble backwards, her free hand over her pounding chest. There he was, standing before her with his black hair messy and his green eyes squinting. The glasses on his face were crooked to one side and the pajamas on his torso were wrinkled lightly. He stood staring at her dubiously, attempting to readjust his vision to a more clear gaze. However, Hermione's flustered expression was her own dead giveaway. He didn't waste a moment and, instantly, he'd noticed her poor stature. And how could he not notice? The sleepless bags under her otherwise brilliant eyes made her look tired and tearful. Bloodshot and red, her pupils darted around wildly before focusing back at Harry with a sheepish expression. Her jacket was falling off of one of her shoulders, her cheeks stained with trails of water. And as he watched her hand fling desperately up to wipe away the obvious from her face, Harry said softly, "Hermione... w-what's the matter?"

Hermione's breath slowed down significantly. Her face dripped with more anxious sweat. With her shoulders lowered and her hands loose and limp around her hips, she had never felt more helpless. It was a feeling that both frightened and sickened her. Draco Malfoy. How was it that he was the one who was causing her all this stress? How was it that, despite all her misery and desperation, she felt that she had no choice? Felt that everything and anything would be resolved at the sole moment when she could see him happy? As she stood there in front of Harry, contemplating a satisfactory answer, she couldn't help but overlook the bittersweet fact that she'd cared for Draco Malfoy much more than she'd initially anticipated.

And the whirlwind of the idea that this was not supposed to happen was enough to break her. "Something's wrong," she told him, finally when she knew that she couldn't quite push her thoughts away anymore. Whatever it was that Draco Malfoy was making her feel was, admittedly, far too present for her to put it off anymore. So, she couldn't do it alone, but she knew someone who could help her out with everything.

Harry's face fell. His glasses slid off from the bridge of his nose like a slide. Stepping towards her, he stiffed upright and an intense look of concern overtook his face. "What is it?" he asked softly, his brown eyebrows lowering. "'Mione, what's wrong? You can tell me."

But Hermione couldn't quite help herself. "Promise," she started, sniffling ever so slightly, "that you won't hate me afterwards?"

"Hermione," Harry assured her, stepping even closer forward, "I could never hate you." The look on his face almost broke her heart. So accepting and so friendly he was that Hermione had to reconsider carrying on with her admission in the first place. She'd betrayed both Ron and Harry in a sense. All the while, she seemed to recall years ago when Ron had warned her again fraternizing with the enemy.

Her hands slipped over her mouth and she glanced around the little house with her glassy eyes. For years she'd worked herself up to get to this point- money and power and friends. The Wizarding World actually listened to what she had to say. She was an important figure. She mattered. Years ago before she and Harry and Ron had saved them all, she would have never have expected to see herself so... successful. And here she was, risking the possibility of ruining everything- of loosing the two friends she knew she would never gain back in her lifetime. Ron and Harry... they mattered. But now, so did Draco Malfoy.

"Something's wrong," she began, feeling her face flush a bright shade of scarlet red. An understatement- what a bloody understatement. Something was more than wrong. Something was truly amiss. Hermione was seeing Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson was threatening to tell the whole world. If that wasn't enough reason for Malfoy to wander over the edge, then Hermione was exactly sure what was. And it was all her fault. She'd insisted on keeping the damn radio, on continuing to talk to Malfoy even after she'd helped him off of the bridge. She should have left him alone, let him be. It was so like her to get herself tangled up in things that she should never have involved herself in in the first place.

But Harry, none the wiser, was inching towards her even further. His strong hand was on her elbow. The door next to him opened slowly and Ron, still dressed in his pajamas, emerged tying the belt of a green robe around his waist. He looked up, glanced momentarily at Hermione's wet face, and looked back at Harry, who paid his friend no attention. "What's going on?" Ron murmured, still doused with the easiness of sleep. "What's a matter?"

"I've been seeing somebody," Hermione coughed finally, when she couldn't take it anymore. Was this what it had all come down to? A confrontation in the hallway of the small house she'd always envisioned herself sharing with her two best friends? She considered the mess, the blatantly obvious mess, and slumped down against the wall behind her. She shook her weary head that was supported by her thin little neck. Perhaps she'd had too much to drink with Goyle only hours before, but her more sensible self knew differently. After months of the stress, after weeks of frustration and worry... it truly had boiled down to this. It was only a matter of time before she herself would finally break.

Ron eyes locked in on her. His gaze, however, was not of jealousy, but of instant concern. "Who?"

The wind through the open window seemed to nip harshly at her face, and yet all the while, the room was growing immensely hot. Hermione could hear her wild heart beating ten times faster in her heavy chest. Her shoulders felt like two intense boulders. Her feet rooted to the spot like steady tree roots, centered to the earth below her. She couldn't move and she couldn't go back. But, what good was trying to do so anyway? For she'd already established that she could not, no matter how hard she'd tried, do this alone. She'd needed assistance and, most of all, so did Malfoy. Thus, taking one big breath in, Hermione glanced down and stared a hypothetical hole into the floorboards. "Draco Malfoy."

"I'll kill him." It was the first thing either of the two uttered and it came from the mouth of Ron Weasley. His fingers rose up from his sides and he furiously took to untying the robe around his torso. Thrusting the thing to the ground, he stood fuming in his pajamas for only a moment before diving back into his bedroom. And Harry, who stood frozen at Hermione's side, did not move a muscle until Ron emerged from the darkness of his bedroom, his knuckles ghost white as they tightly gripped his thin little wand. "Where is he?"

Where was he? He was mad. He was hearing voices and seeing men that were supposed to be deceased. Where was he? What an absolutely appropriate question for Ron to ask because, in reality, Hermione wasn't even sure of the answer herself.

Finally, Harry gave a slight flick at her side. He shook his head, and and all new seriousness immediately overtook him. Focusing on her directly, he neared her for the last time and his grip tightened ever so slightly. His jaw squared away and sternly he asked, "what's he done to you?"

But Hermione shook her head. "He's done nothing," she chocked, "I've done it to him."

Silence overtook the three without question. Ron's grip slackened and Harry's jaw came slowly apart. Dumbfounded, the two in their pajamas and discarded robes, they remained stuck in confusion for only a slight while before Harry stammered, "I... err...I d-don't understand."

"Draco's not well... at least, most people don't think so." Hermione dropped her hands and then raised them, running them nervously through her hair. "He's been having nightmares. He's... he's hearing voices Harry, just like you did before the war." Her voice, the way it echoed off of the walls, was a rather shocking sound to Hermione. Desperation flooded through it. It was a strange feeling to be so needy, so helpless. In that moment, she was sure she'd never felt more useless in her entire life. And what would Malfoy think... what would he do when he'd found out whom she'd gone looking for help with? Uneasiness was only a simple way of describing it. Hermione, she could have been ill at any given moment. As they ticked on, and she could see that hysterics was not the answer, she smoothed out her frizzy mane and readjusted herself. Her hands flew to her eyes and she wiped away greedily at her cheeks. Swallowing, she cleared her throat and breathed in for the last time before speaking out loud again. Then, when she was ready, she concluded, "he's seeing Voldemort."

"That's not possible," Harry counteracted, stepping back away from her. However, his focus softened and in her eyes he could see that she was more than serious. "How...?"

"I've seen it," Hermione breathed. "I've seen what goes on with him." She attempted to straighten herself, to regain a sense of control. Ron, however, had not moved from his spot. He seemed to have not heard a single word she'd been saying for quite some time now. However, Hermione turned to Harry and asked in a more stern tone of voice, "do you know Elaine Galler?"

Harry considered it only for a moment before saying, "yeah?"

"He's been seeing her for a while." Hermione continued, feeling a slight rush of urgency. And the hurry was, by all means, expected. Having left Malfoy alone, she wasn't sure what he'd get himself in to. And the more she'd considered the possibilities, the more she'd knew she needed to go back. "She's under the impression that he's insane. She wants to send him away to Hobb's."

Neither of the two said a word. Their features, frozen, did not move a muscle. Only Harry, who pulled himself together, allowed his face to drop in concern. "What do you want us to do about it?"

"Pansy Parkinson." Hermione couldn't help the rising nerves in her body, but she knew that she'd needed them... knew that, despite the fact that he'd argue it, Draco needed them too. "Pansy found out about Draco and I. She's threatened t-to tell the media." Drawing in a breath, Hermione shut her eyes. Shaking her head, she continued, "Draco's going to loose it. He's already got enough stress... already got enough to worry about..."

"What can we do about it?" Harry instantly asked, but his tone was not sarcastic or bitter. Instead, he looked only at Hermione with worry. In that moment, Hermione was not sure that she could love Harry Potter any more than she did at that moment. His face, lined with concern and care for his best friend, was serious and careful and yearning. All the years they'd spent together, all the tough times... it didn't matter if Hermione was seeing Draco Malfoy, at least, not now. The stress and pain it had caused her- that was the issue, that was all he'd cared about.

But Hermione shook her head, her messy hair falling across her forehead. Shrugging her shoulders, she said defeated, "I don't know."

* * *

The knock that came in the early morning of Draco's night was an urgent one. Riddled with quick tones carried by a strong and steady hand, it rang out through his otherwise empty home with such conviction that, even laying flat on his mattress, his eyes were forced consequently opened. However long he'd fallen asleep for, he wasn't quite sure. But the sloppiness of sleep was heavy on him and it took much to raise him from the bed. Slowly, he glanced over out the open window. The curtains, still flowing dancingly in the wind, showed the scene before him- somewhere between six or seven in the morning. The sky, a pale and ghostly white, blended in with the ground before him which was buried beneath a thick blanket of snow. Sluggish and freezing, he ignored the open window and slumped towards the bedroom door, giving himself one quick glance in the mirror as he passed.

Disgraceful. One word to describe his current image was putrid. And that would have only been putting it lightly. Putrid- that was an euphemism. His hair, greasy and tangled, was crooked out in a various number of different directions due to the way he'd slept on it. The red tint to his glossy eyes was disturbing, as was the dried trail of spit that ran from the corner of his open mouth all the way down to the open collar of his white button up shirt. The thing was just barely tucked into his black trousers and the belt that was only just keeping them up on his waist was dangling out from their holes horribly. He sniffed back a nose full of dried blood, or whatever it was from having fallen flat on his face at Goyle's house. All of the bruises and the scratches, well, at least that much had come to be expected.

And then came again the knocking on his front door, quieter at first, but then loud enough that he could almost feel the whole house shake. Where were his parents? Was he, Malfoy, truly in that much trouble that it had taken them hours to convince the Ministry otherwise? In the back of his mind, Malfoy did not doubt that that was, in fact, the case. "Coming," he muttered to whomever it was at the door, but his voice was not hardly near loud enough. As he spit it out, the cracky croak of his tone was almost as tainted as his physical appearance.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._ "Please, Draco, open up!"

Hermione?

At once, Malfoy's steps became a bit faster. His hands flew to his hair and, desperately, he tried to smooth it back to a more appropriate position. However, unsuccessful, it fell in front of his forehead like a cranky child. He checked his breath and was disgusted to find that it had smelled even more awful than he'd previously expected. Rubbing his eyes deliriously, he tried to physically smudge the bruises from his face but, however, emerged with no such luck. He limped down the massive set of stairs that piled on before him. A shaky hand gripped the long railing that stood usefully at his side. A hint of humiliation flooded through him, but he'd ended on such a bad note with her. Despite being so distant from her before, he couldn't help but feel a bit lonely without her there. While he did not bother shouting to let her know he was on his way, he had already reached the final step just as the next set of knocks came banging through his ears.

He thought momentarily: _"What a strong knocking for someone so small..."_

And yet, despite his suspicion, he leaned towards the door. With sore fingers, he pried the thing open, whisked ajar the big front door, and stared out into the night. There, standing before him, certainly was Hermione Granger. However, she'd brought along two guests... two unexpected guests. Two very unexpected guests. Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, they stood at either side of her, their wands drawn outward and pointing directly at his chest.

"Hello, Draco," Ron said finally, when Malfoy caught the beat red expression on Hermione's face, "have time for a word?"


	16. Reunion

**Vonne: **Wow! I was overjoyed to come online and find that I'd had an overwhelming amount of reviews for 'Basket Case'. Especially thanks to **Missy Elle,** who reviewed every single chapter up to the point that we are at now. Thanks a lot! I always appreciate someone who takes any time out to do something that can seem so monotonous. I really, really appreciate it!

Anyways, we are almost caught up to the point of being officially caught up now. So, please, be patient! I am hoping to be caught up in the next week so, definitely, help me out here! :) Thanks everyone so much! I love and ready all of your reviews- even the long ones.

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**Chapter Fifteen:**  
**Reunion**

"Tea, Malfoy?"

Ron Weasley had been walking in a riot. The sly smile on his face was even making Malfoy more and more nervous with every passing minute. With the hand that was not greedily gripping his wand, Ron was searching through the cabinets of the kitchen. But whatever flavor of tea Ron was searching for, Malfoy wasn't about to accept his offer. He was in no mood for tea. What he'd needed was liquor, if he'd still been a drinker. However Ron was absolutely insisting, a little game he'd decided to play the very moment he'd walked through the front doors of the Manor. Still, no matter how hard he'd searched for it, he could not find the stacks of tea in the variety of drawers that lined the kitchen. Besides, Malfoy grumbled bitterly to himself, "it's my house..."

"Sorry, didn't catch that," Ron mused, glancing back over his shoulder and shooting Malfoy an angry glare. But Draco subsided, finding himself oddly intimidated. The years had been rather kind to Ron Weasley, whose hair was still as bright as ever. Though the freckles were still obvious on his visage, there sat not a wrinkle in sight. Malfoy remembered back five years ago when the pale white hand of Ron's came thundering into his face. Wincing, he decided that perhaps he was not in the mood to further upset him.

However, it was the silent figure in the corner that was the truly daunting one. It stood off to the side, saying not a single word. He'd allowed Ron to run rampage through Draco's kitchen, but still managed to throw him looks of disapproval every so often. Harry Potter was exactly like Draco Malfoy had remembered him to be. His black hair was just as messy and his round glasses were just as present. He stood in the same odd and lanky fashion, though possessed a dangerous flash behind his pair of otherwise gentle green eyes.

"Ron," Hermione hissed just as her mate collided into the kitchen island on accident. Swearing, he'd rubbed his sore hip as Hermione tossed her head to the side. "Calm down, would you?"

Draco's eyes shifted back over to Hermione. Where she sat with him at the kitchen table, her hands were on her lap, as if she wasn't quite sure she should be grabbing towards Malfoy. Her face was wet and her hair was messy, and still she'd managed to look ten times better than Draco. In the brightest part of her lovely eyes, there was a hint of otherwise distinct sorrow.

"Calm down?" Ron finally asked her, befuddled. He glanced back over to Harry with a somewhat amused expression. "Do you believe this?" He asked Harry, gesturing towards Draco with the tip of his wand. "Unbelievable!" Malfoy's uneasiness doubled. Then, shrinking away from the conversation, he slumped forward and placed his head on the surface of the table. His clammy hands running through his head of disturbingly dirty blond hair, he pressed his eyes shut and listened to only the voice of Ron as it bounced off the kitchen walls. "How in the hell do you expect me to calm down, Hermione?" He hissed, "this is crazy."

"Malfoy and I are not the issue here, Ron!" Hermione shot back, only momentarily glancing down at Draco, deflated next to her. She felt a second rush of urgeny sweep over her and then moved her attention back to Harry, whispering so Draco couldn't hear, "please."

Harry's posture shifted. He untangled his arms from across his chest and glanced back over to Ron. His expression was only half that of a threat but, sighing, Ron sighed and gave up on his arguement. Despite his bitter frown, he slumped against the kitchen counter and waved his wrist around flimsily. "Carry on then," he murmured in a slightly sarcastic tone, "by all means."

Nothing, however, was said. With Draco nailed to the table and Ron too upset to mutter anything else, it seemed that the start of a solution was left up to either Hermione or Harry. But Harry took the initive. He stepped forward with one of his feet, gently, and then timidly sat himself down into one of the open kitchen chairs next to Draco. "What's going on with you, Malfoy?" He asked in the most blunt way possible. Hermione's hand slid underneath the top of the table and wriggled their way through the sweaty sticks that were Malfoy's fingers.

She leaned herself towards Malfoy and whispered in a hoarse tone, "please, they can help you if you just trust them."

But Malfoy wasn't going to waste time being mad at Hermione. In no way was he going to spend his moments being bitter or upset with her. Truth of the matter was that, like it or not, she was right. Harry, now he was close to the head of the Ministry. Ron, too. Just one of them had more pull than even his father. They could quiet Pansy, could keep Draco out of Galler's office. Maybe they could even find the source of the voices, even put an end to it perhaps. And yet, despite all the possibilities, Draco couldn't help but feel humiliated and resentful- not at Hermione. At Harry, for his pompus little face and his smug little grin. At Ron, for messing up the majority of the kitchen cabinets.

But Hermione's hand on his made him swallow his pride. What more did he have left to hope for? It was, quite frankly, Harry Potter or nothing at all. "I'm not crazy," he said sloppily, in a voice that had not had adequate sleep in as long as he could remember.

"I'd beg to differ," Ron coughed under his breath, but his comment went furthermore ignored.

"Alright," Harry breathed, readjusting himself. He didn't quite bother to look into Draco's eyes. "Then, er.. why does Elaine Galer want to send you-?" Hermione, eyes wide, cut him off instantly. Her mouth dropped open, her hair fell lifelessly across her face. Apparently, he had overstepped some boundaries that he wasn't even aware about. He paused, glanced back down at Malfoy and considered the notion that Draco was otherwise completely unaware of the fact that Elaine Galler had every intention of sending him away.

"Elaine Galler... Errr-" he stopped, pausing for a second to think of something useful to say. He'd needed something convincing and needed it fast. Dizzily, he spat out nervously, "... To more therapy sessions in her office?" Quite honestly, his cover up did not make much sense. However Malfoy did not seem to catch on. Instead, he only shrugged, running his hand across the front of his weary face.

He said groggily, "I'm not sure." In all honesty, he wasn't really. Elaine had no idea about the voices and the visions. Elaine didn't even know the half of it. But then why was Hermione's face growing more and more pale by the mintue? He nodded it off, pretending he didn't notice her nervousness, and slumped back down to the table.

Harry, pausing in his uncertainty, was at a bit of a loss. Malfoy, even in all his blunt misery, hadn't said a single horrible thing since he and Ron had arrived at his house in the early morning. He considered the circumstances and decided that the five years may have done something strange to him. However, the notion was passed quickly. What was he thinking? This was Draco Malfoy that he was talking about and nothing had changed except the fact that he was loosing his fucking mind.

And that, of course, was an immensely plausible possibility.

Hermione, with her hands inching closer and closer to Draco's in his lap by the moment, had finally reached the nearest spot by his fingertips. Harry noticed as she reached out towards them, lacing hers within his without a second worth of hesitation. He considered her solemn expression, so distraught by the obvious misery of Draco. Draco Malfoy. And he, Harry, though he'd never see the day. From the other end of the kitchen, he caught sight of Ron, whose face was twisted in a particularly confused manner, glance up at Harry before retracting back and glancing down at Hermione for the second time that night. He looked as if he were about to both become ill and murder Draco. Perhaps he'd even attempt to do both at the same time.

Although, despite the fact that the current situation Harry had found himself in was, admittedly, a rather odd one, he couldn't help but melt under the pressure of Hermione's solemn face. He was certain he had never before seen her so anxious. Sighing, he ran his hand through his head of messy black hair. Behind his glassy spectacles, he blinked his pair of green eyes. He allowed his hand to run down flimsily at the front of his face. "We can have Pansy discredited," he said helpfully. "We'll have it so whatever she comes to the Ministry with is put off. That one's easy."

Smiling slightly, Hermione mouth a quick little word of thanks to Harry before he added, "as for your appointments with Elaine Galler... I think you should continue to see her. At least until we get this whole thing sorted out. I'll try and organize some sort of investigation on her practices."

Malfoy did not flinch. Still glued to the table top, he seemed to be only slightly paying attention. When the time came for it, he simply raised his hand and said in a muffled voice that carried up from under the table lightly, "fine." And, other than his simple statement of agreement, he remained as quiet as he'd been since the moment they'd barged into his house. However, Harry was sure he'd seen Malfoy twitch every so often as the long moments passed them mercilessly. Ron, on the other hand, had chosen to focus more on Draco's silence, rather that his posture.

"I think a kind thank you would be more appropriate!" he scuffed, eyes wide. He'd been looking back and forth between Hermione and Harry, waiting for someone to vocally agree with him. When no sound of agreement came to him, he fell flatly with his shoulders downward and burned an imaginary hole into the bent over crown of Draco's head.

But Malfoy did not even try to argue. Instead, he only slightly lifted up his heavy head, glanced lightly into his lap, and muttered in a quiet voice, "thank you."

"Err... alright," Harry nodded, feeling all the more uneasy as he stood there before him. "Alright, well, we'll keep in touch." There, as he stood simply stating the obvious, he couldn't have felt more uncomfortable. Finally, he exchanged looks with Ron, who had been trying to get his attention for almost half the night, and nodded back at Hermione. His eyes slowly found their way to the surface of the massive front door.

And then Hermione bent down towards Malfoy, her face still red with anxiety. The hand that had been resting on top of his slowly moved away. Instead, she neared closer to him with her upper torso and, smoothing away the top of Malfoy's blond hair, she planted a light kiss on the crown of his forehead. Ron's eyes widened in response. Harry felt the necessary urge to leave the house as soon as utterly possible. However, the look on her face when she'd pulled away made Harry relax. Malfoy hadn't moved a muscle. Having let her kiss him softly, he remained still and unmoving.

They ignored Ron's gawking and made their way to the front door, something Draco had been hoping they'd have done much sooner. His fingers crawled towards his wand in his pocket and, with a simple little flick of it, the large kissing doors swung open, revealing to the three the whiteness of the morning. He heard their echoing footsteps clatter across the marble flooring as they passed him, felt Hermione finally slip away. And then, when he was certain they'd gone, he used his wand to shut the door back up again, thus plummeting himself once again in the unforgiving darkness.

* * *

"I'm here to see Leroy Beevis."

The woman behind the counter glanced up, peering at the figure that stood in front of her through the transparent glass wall. He was tall and quite bluntly wrapped up, though she instantly assumed that he had not done so because of the weather. Slender and bundled in a dark black pea coat, the man's olive green scarf concealed almost half of his neck. Though, despite his efforts, a slightly obvious bout of blond hair stuck out from every corner of his gray newsboy cap. Her eyes looked him up and down and, leaning back in her chair, she said without a smile, "ah, Draco Malfoy. They told me you'd come around here sooner or later."

Malfoy's face fell significantly. Why was it that when he made the effort to disguise himself, he was always figured out? Surely, he'd been loosing his touch... if he'd ever possessed one handy enough to loose. Sighing, he pulled off his hat, feeling silly, and let his messy hair show in a mop on top of his head. He didn't bother to worry about the cuts and bruises that tainted his face. Where he was, he was sure that no one would care much about something so considerably minor.

Hobb's Institute for the Criminally Insane. Whatever had possessed him to pay Leroy Beevis a visit had still been quite the mystery to him even then. But he'd left the house in the hours after his parents came home, for they'd still been under the impression that he was simply on a stroll; "to get some fresh air," he'd told them. And perhaps, initially he hadn't been lying or, he hadn't been until the moment he took his walk up towards the asylum itself. There, big and sturdy, it stood behind emerald vines and hidden trees. Fenced off and daunting, Malfoy was surprised he'd even made it inside the building in the first place. Still, he straightened himself up and tried to look like a visitor rather than a patient.

He did not comment on the nurse's previous statement; he had nothing really to say to it. Truth of the matter was, he had never imagined himself coming back to visit Beevis. Maybe they had expected such an occurrence, but he surely had not. Looking sheepish, he stood still and statuesque in the pure front room of the institute, almost at a complete loss. "Well, Mr. Malfoy, I'm afraid I can't permit you to see Leroy Beevis without a permission slip."

Petite and clever, the nurse's eyes scanned Draco quickly before returning back to her clipboard. However, Malfoy had come prepared. He was, by all means, two steps ahead of her. Instantly, his hand flew to his jacket pocket. His fingers felt for the paper scrap that had existed there and, within minutes, he'd held it out in front of him. The nurse's face twisted. Her focus flicked from the sheet of paper to Draco and then back again. When she pulled open the little drawer at the glass in front of her and waited for him to place the paper down into it, she did so cautiously. Carefully, her eyes scanned the sheet of pink. There, on the dotted line, was the neat signature of one Elaine Galler, who had apparently granted Malfoy with his permission to visit. She couldn't tell it was a fake, something Malfoy had forged in a bit of a desperate hurry. And, although she was none the wiser, she glanced back up analytically at Draco before slipping the paper into her nearby files.

"Good luck with that one," she said before finally leaning forward and pressing the button at her right to open the single white door that lay behind the see-through glass. "He really is mad. I'd be surprised if you got a single word out of him."

Draco's feet slid along the tile below him. There was no going back now, no turning to run. And as he neared the open door that lead to the empty hallway of nothing but white, he couldn't help but feel all the more chilly.

The small door behind him gave one wide swing shut, and then finally locked with a click that echoed along the corders.


	17. Charmless

**Vonne:** Recently its been a sort of guessing game for some people to see if they can come up with where I got the titles for my chapters from. This one will be hard to guess considering I only took 50% of this title from a Blur song. The song, "Charmless Man" is a old song sung by Damon Albarn from the Brit Pop band. Besides, I considered it fitting for the chapter and the story as a whole, really, considering Malfoy's a bit of a charmless man himself in this story, isn't he? Not like, in the rude sense, but, in the pathetic, loosing his mind sort of sense. Though, I figure he's doing so in the most charming way possible, I'd imagine. So, I guess it goes both ways and now I'm rambling... so, uh, there's a bit of a fun facts lesson for anyone that actually reads what I write above the fine gray line down there.

Thank you to all the reviews I've gotten so far. We are only three chapters away from being all caught up and I couldn't be more thrilled! Please keep the feedback coming! I love hearing from all of you. I have almost no time tonight to respond back to anyone today, but I will for sure next update! I want to get caught up so badly!

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**Chapter Sixteen  
Charmless**

_Click. Click. Click._

The little clip-clopping noises of Malfoy's soled shoes made the sound of consistency at the surface of the tile below him. It both nerved and calmed him, though it had given him something to focus on other than the distinct sterile environment of the institution altogether. At his side, the big shadow of a beefy guard in a white uniform watched him carefully. In fact, he had not taken his eyes off of him since the moment he had entered the hallway in the first place. Though, still and statue-like, he cocked his head down the corridor and had only replied gruffly, "this way."

The way that the massive glacier of a man had been talking about was, by all means, quite a long route. Not entirely sure how long they'd been walking for, Malfoy felt as if each passing moment could have become collectively an hour's worth of walking. The white halls, they had become dark and black with shade. Each lingering step had plummeted them down further and further into the narrow hallway. When finally, they stopped at two large doors in front of them, the guard lifted his keys from his pocket, pushed it greedily open, and returned to once again lock it from behind them.

But something was strange and awful about the new area of the institution. This new section of Hobb's was not white and pure as the front room had so previously suggested. The paint had been peeling off of the walls and a yellowish color had taken over them, as if plaque on a set of rotting teeth. Entire squares of tile had been chipped up from the floor. Pieces of the lowered ceiling had fallen off completely. But it was nothing compared to the scent that washed over him like a tide of bitter realization. The stale air circulated him mercilessly, made his eyes tear up by just its simple presence. Lead passed the simple white doors that lined the hallway, Malfoy couldn't help but feel a shiver run up his chilly spine. He could hear the moans of the men and women that stood unwillingly behind them, could even see their shadows as they paced in the small closet-like room.

Someone from behind their shut door yelled out in a spiked and sedated voice, "get out, while you still can!"

Glancing back over his shoulder, Malfoy was sure that getting out was not really an option of his anymore. The doors they'd come through had appeared heavy and were most certainly locked. However, he only glanced away from the door, from the hand that showed itself in the glass window that rest upon it. Instead, he focused on his feet and nothing else, ignoring the shabby appearance of the living conditions that belonged to the mad. He tucked his scarf down further in his collar, preoccupying himself with whatever task he could come up with, no matter how unnecessary. And still, he found it impossible to stop walking. Closer and closer towards the end of the elongated hallway, Malfoy hadn't even noticed when the man in front of him stopped walking indefinitely.

Draco glanced up at the small portal, just as bolted and uncared for as all the others. However, there was no name above the knob. Instead, the room was not labeled at all and Malfoy was instantly certain that he had not been led to Beevis' bedroom residence, but the visiting room. "Leroy Beevis," the guard said, gesturing to the closed door in front of him, "he's all yours." All his. The way the man said it was as if he had been expecting Malfoy to waltz in the room and hex him. The look on his pudgy face was almost suspicious, malicious even. And the way he smiled slyly made Malfoy feel all the more out of place. And yet, he managed to stumble back towards the door once it had been unlocked. He even, with shaky fingers, was able to grip the handle and pull the door open bracingly.

And then there was nothing but gray. There in the simpleness, was the shadow figure of a man that Malfoy only knew so well. His shoulders were slouched and his wrists were bound together by a pair of cuffs that looked like tightly wound fabric. Something that looked like a brown belt was wound around them, as well. And, although the head of the figure was bent, Malfoy could see the eyes as they glanced upward. Two, frantic eyes caught Malfoy's wide and almost physically fearful. "Ay!" he shouted in a voice that was hoarse and barely-there. He shifted slightly in his seat and his expression was both uncomfortable and terrified. "Ay! y-you c-can't l-leave me in here with him! Hey! Please!"

But the meaty man at the other end of the door opted to ignoring Beevis and, despite his screaming, shut the door behind him without a thought in the word. It was only Malfoy, who stood at the portal timidly, who took to feeling a bit anxious. Beevis in front of him was, by all means, in complete hysterics. His pale face was sweating and the glassy part of his eyes were red and bloodshot. But despite the white uniform and the cuffed wrists, Malfoy couldn't help but notice his similarity with the captive man, whose miserable expression shined through even the darkest parts of the room. The instant connection made him freeze momentarily before holding his hands up submissively.

"No, no, please," he replied back in a voice that was surprisingly just as sore, "please, _shh_. I'm not going to-"

The shaking figure froze, took notice of Malfoy's uplifted hands, and shook his head harshly. Wincing, he appeared as if he were almost physically trying to rid himself of some awful thought that had been plaguing his mind. When he snapped back to Malfoy and the dark room around him, he squared away his jaw and glanced down at the chair at the opposite end of the other side of the table. There were no restraints on the other end, but it still looked just as uninviting. "Who told you that you come come here today?" he said after swallowing the largely thick lump in the middle of his swollen throat.

Pausing, Malfoy couldn't help but stand still. He wasn't even certain that Beevis had spoken to him at all. However, the look in the man's wild eyes told him that he was waiting for some sort of adequate answer. Buzzing, Malfoy loosened the olive green scarf from around his neck. But his voice was far more unsteady than Beevis' past tone. Shivering and rocky, he was certain that the roles between he and Beevis had been switched. "E-Elaine Galler."

Beevis did not move a muscle. His mouth lifted upward and he said sternly, "liar."

He didn't waste any time in order to deny it. Instead, Malfoy only glanced back at the chair ahead of him, empty and all the more uninviting. "Can I sit down?" he asked timidly.

"I'd rather you not."

He'd rather he not. Funnily enough, Draco seemed to consider Beevis' wishes before proceeding forward anyway. He said as if speaking to a disobedient child, "I'm going to have a seat," and then moved through the rusted tiles with caution. Whatever had previously possessed him to come and pay Leroy Beevis a visit, it was fading fast. But Malfoy knew that he needed to keep control of the visit. Consequently, he knew that being submissive would not get him anywhere progressive. Thus, he scooted to the seat, uneasily, before ploping down into it and folding his clammy hands in his lap.

Where was Hermione when he'd actually needed her? Or even, though he couldn't even believe he'd been thinking it, Ron and Harry? He felt somewhat of a strong bitterness towards himself for allowing his nerves to get the best of him. Instantly, he uncrossed his fingers and looked back up, from his lap stright into Beevis' battered visage.

The eyes of the mad man were far more dizzying than he'd first anticipated. Something anxious flicked behind them and, jitteringly, Draco's posture slumped forward. "I need t-to ask you s-some questions, if you don't m-mind..."

"I do mind." When he talked, only the right corner moved up in a twitchy sort of manner. He spoke in a boyish voice, despite the lines of stress that had been marked across his face. He had the look of being both concentrated and distracted at the same time. Every so often, Draco was certain he saw a flick of stress wince behing his otherwise focused expression. "I do mind, but you'll do it anyway. Keep your distance from me," Leroy only hissed. However, when Malfoy reached down into his brief case to pull out a small stack of paper files, Beevis' gruff expression faltered. He seemed to be melting blatantly all over his false exterior, giving himself away much more than he'd anticipated. The flicker of fear that shimmered in the glassiest part of his eyes, it was Malfoy's prime revelation.

And yet why, after noticing the obvious flicker, was it that Malfoy did not feel all the more confident? The ball was in his court, right? And, besides, with Beevis literally attached by the ankles and wrists to the chair before him, what was there for Malfoy to fear, anyways? Yet he couldn't shake the anxiety, the pure fright of knowing that perhaps it was Beevis who'd known something that he, Malfoy, certainly did not. The overwhelming bout of intimidation washed over him. His hands sweatily gripped the thin stack of papers. Only quickly scribbled notes that he'd taken in the early morning before his visit, Malfoy was even beginning to second guess his pre-prepared nonsense.

Still, he glanced back over them, swallowing and doubting. "Err..." he said, leaning forward and continuing to avoid Beevis' shaky gaze, "err... uhm, I wanted to know-"

Leroy's face twisted. All the while, as Malfoy stumbled through his childishly prepared notes, Leory looked as if he were about to pass out at any given moment. He bit his bottom lip, chewing it so harshly that he'd begun to draw a slight amount of blood. Then he cocked his head bitterly to one side, as if trying to free water from his right ear, before snapping it back into its proper position. "You know what... _I _wanted to know something, too, alright?" Through clenched teeth, he continued as if doing so was a rather rough stretch for him. Continuing on seemed to pain him even more than simply sitting there in silence. Yet, he blinked furiously and continued, "I'd like to know: 'how much time do you think you got?'"

Malfoy froze. Blinking, he could almost physically feel himself dropping the hypothetical ball. No longer was it in his court. He paused for a minute, stiffening. "...T-t-time?"

"Yeah," Beevis twitched. His greasy hair was falling across his sweaty forehead. Something larger was going on behind his cold eyes, but Malfoy could just not place his finger on it. "Time," Beevis continued, "how much time do you think you've got?"

Draco felt stupid in his put together clothing and his freshly washed hair. It didn't matter now, that he'd gotten all dressed up in order to even walk out in public. All that effort, all that unnecessary shit, for a man that couldn't care less either way. Whether or not Draco had looked washed, he still was going to play the same game with him. Mess with his mind. Make him go crazy all over again. And perhaps he should have been so phased in what a man of such insanity had been telling him anyways- but, wasn't that was Draco was becoming anyway? Wasn't he just like Beevis in the first place?

An entirely new sense of panic washed over him. He wanted to mess up his brushed hair and slash it all over his face. He wanted to lean forward more into the light to show Beevis his face full of scars and bruises. Maybe then he'd see how desperate he was. He was sweating all over his nice white shirt anyway. "I-I'm n-not sure I u-understand? ..."

Beevis did not waste anytime. "Time," he said quickly, like he was on some sort of shortage, "before you end up right here with me."

A long sequence of moments passed between both Draco and Leroy, neither of whom moved a muscle. Beevis' jaw was locked squarely into place, his shoulders at a steady level, despite having been forced in a joined position at his wrists. He was not smiling and he was not frowning; he was merely waiting. Though Malfoy did not answer him. His face was still, and his eyes searched the visage of Beevis inquisitively, as if he could possibly figure him out with one glance. But he could not understand him, could not for the life of him, manage to get a grasp of what it was he was talking about. Sure, he'd heard him. However, the understanding was long gone. Draco Malfoy couldn't focus on the room, on the chair, or the braces holding the man into it. He only stared at those eyes; those sad, cold eyes, that looked so much like his own... .

Malfoy shook his head, swallowing once again despite his newly sore throat. An entirely new fit of trembling took over his already shaky hand. He lifted it, running it through his hair, allowing it to fall nervously across his forehead. He blinked his stinging eyes, cleared his throat and glanced back down at the papers for the second time. Despite his previous unease, despite Beevis' remaining stare, he peered back down at them, reading, "I w-wanted to know w-what you were t-talking a-about when w-we were in the alleyway-"

Beevis cut him off, "you're ignoring the question," he said stilly.

Draco shook his head, taking to ignore Beevis as much as he possibly could. He ran his trembling and clammy hand through his head of blond hair, greasing it up, making himself more suitably unpresentable for the occasion. "I, uh," he stammered, clearing his throat and peering down at his notes with a blurred sense of sight. Trying to ignore Beevis was, admittedly, rather hard to do. And yet, sighing, Malfoy looked past his faulty vision just briefly enough to continue reading, "Uh... b-behind t-the alleyway..."

"Look at me." In the split moment that it took Draco to stop reading his notes, Beevis had squared away his jaw, locked in his heavy chin. His pupils danced around in his eye sockets wildly. "You think you're fooling me?" he asked, "what? You think you would just waltz in here like a member of the rest of the world? Of... of _that _society?" Beevis' large eyes were now narrow and accusing. He cocked his chin up at Malfoy, gesturing at his dark trousers and the way he'd tucked his shirt hastily into the belt. He spat, in a manner that was both angry and disgusted, "you couldn't look more out of place if you tried."

No longer could he focus on the screwy papers full of his screwy notes. They were just jolted down gibberish, anyways. What did he think he was going to do, anyways? Surely, he wasn't under the ridiculous impression that he would be able to sit down and have a nice little chat with a crazy man? Of course, as a quite possibly madman himself, such a pathetic expectation was not far from Malfoy's grasp. His face vividly fell, draining of any left over color, and his fingers felt wet and clammy on his stupid stack of papers. And screw the papers, too. Why did he even bother to bring a pile of bleeding papers in the first place?

"If you ask me," Beevis said, leaning in to tell Malfoy something of a secret, "I'm under the impression that you've only got a couple. Days. A couple days until you're _right_ here with me. Locked away were you belong." There was no sense of amusement in Beevis' face. Instead, he looked rather serious; the look of dead concern was etched all over his pale face of bruised skin. "And for the sake of all of us, I hope they never let you out."

And then something finally seemed to snap. Though it seemed as if Leroy Beevis was only being held together by very few strings anyway, it was as if something had finally cut the remaining strands loose. Beevis' eyes swam around wildly, both wincing and tearful. He tried to keep himself menacing, though he was admittedly loosing his touch with every instant flicker. He had finished what he'd had to say, but something seemed to be lingering at his throat. His eyes, already spilling over with fountains of water, began to leak down the front of his puffy and bruised face. Then his head snapped to one side, as if trying to free himself of water trapped in his left ear, before he whirled it back into place conclusively.

Draco's focus on his papers had dropped entirely. He set them down, sitting motionless at the opposite end of the table. And, helpless, he was quite obviously frozen with fear. Leroy's eyes blinked and he stared at something across the room unseen. For a second he looked as if he could pass out. He shook his head, ridding himself of unwanted thoughts, and shook his arms that were bound together at the wrist.

Inside his chest, Malfoy's heart skipped a beat. He sat gaping as Beevis' coughing filled the entire room. He sounded as if he could have hacked up an entire lung, sounded as if he'd been a smoker for thousands of years. And Draco couldn't take it. Madman or not, Leroy Beevis did not deserve to suffer from his insanity. And perhaps it was Draco's own empathy for the man that yanked him up from his own uncomfortable seat.

He stumbled away from it, the stack of papers scattering in every possible direction about the chipping tiled floor. In a staggering manner, he approached the small greeting table and shoved it aside with a heart-felt push. The simple thing scooted to the left, scraping against the floor like rotting fingernails across an old dusty chalkboard. But with the table out of the way, Draco positioned himself in front of Beevis, his clammy hands in front of his face. He leaned forward, prepared even, to try and loosen the straps from around his wrists.

Beevis' head snapped back up. His eyes were wide with fear, but they blasted the heated flames of an outraged fire pit. He croaked in a hoarse tone, "I said stay away from me!"

"No! P-please!" Malfoy stammered, diving his fingers in towards his jacket pocket. He reached for his wand and held it out loosely in front of him. "I w-want t-to help, please. I-I'm j-just trying to-"

Leroy's fingers curled. His hair fell, just like Malfoy's, across the clammy forehead of his stressed face. His chest rose and fell and then, sobbing, he pressed his chin down to his chest, facing away in horrified terror. "Stay away from me," he echoed, repeating for a second time, "stay away from me!" But Draco could not even imagine the horrified expression that so tainted Beevis' groggy voice. Did he not know that he, Malfoy, was far more afraid of _him_? Though Beevis' terror was obvious. Twisting in his chair, every sad sob bounced off of the walls around them and made him seem so small and helpless.

Then the door behind them swung open, revealing the outline of two long and towering shadows. The length of them traveled up along the room and shaded both Leroy and Draco in an instant. In the frame of the little door at the visitor's room stood a pair of tall men, each dressed similarly in their white uniforms. They wasted not a moment of time, either. In one single instant, they drated across the room, wands withdrawn. The bigger of the two, he reached his arm out and in one quick swoop, shoved Draco out of the way. His foot caught carelessly over the other and he came into direct contact with the hard floor in a harsh stumble. His teeth ground hard on his bottom lip and he felt the scarlet blood that flooded newly through his mouth. His wand flew out from the grip of his fingers and he saw it just barely in the dakrness of the little room. With desperate hands, he crawled towards it and pried it from the floor before pressing his back against the dirty wall and holding it out fearfully against his panting chest.

But the steirle men in white did not pay Malfoy much attention. They reached instead into their deep pocket and withdrew a long shinning needle. Malfoy caught the glisten of the metal in the light- the massive shot, it was bigger than his center finger. The bigger man yanked Beevis' head to one side, ignoring him as he continued to sorely sob. Forcefully, in one harshly swift motion, the men plunged the needle into the outstretched neck, piercing it through his thin skin with full force. Leroy's body stiffened. His eyes swiveled around, glossy and overflowing with tears. They trailed down his puffy red cheeks, leaked into his mouth and between his lips.

He coughed once more before falling forward with his upper torso, flopping forward towards his knees into the chair. And though the restraints on his arms and legs held him there correctly, it was far more obvious that he had lost any remaining consciousness. The two men, they grabbed for his ankles, freeing them quickly before hauling him up around their shoulders with his limp arms that dangled swinging at his side like simple little ropes. Their hands clutched his, holding him between their two torsos like a deceased and humiliated puppet.

And their hurried shadows swept through the rest of the visitor's room without much hesitation. Quickly, they lured an unconscious Leroy out from his chair and had him excused from the room without any attempt at explanation. Though, all the while, Malfoy remained panting in the corner. His one hand sat still at grips with his shaking wand, and his other lay lifeless on the cold floor below him. He reached up with it, after he was sure he'd been left alone against the wall for only a matter of seconds and, trembling, felt for the blood that remained to be the only taste in his entire mouth. When he pulled his fingers away, they were covered in a blanket of the iron-tasting maroon. Momentarily, he sat in silence. And then he gave one big final sigh, collapsing into himself like a defeated solider. He pressed his throbbing blond head up backwards against the sturdy walls and waited until he heard the reassuring sound of oncoming footsteps as they neared the door that had been left widely open.

In a daze, he only could babble as they helped him up from the ground. Two new figures, both dressed in the same clean white. They locked their arms around his and spoke in legal terms, as if trying to only settle some type of heavy lawsuit. When Malfoy stuttered aloud, "w-what happened t-to him?," they only answered in short, modest tones.

"He's not fully there," one of the two replied, looking straight down the hallway as they led Malfoy back out to the front doors of Hobb's Institution.

"He's very ill," the other one quipped, large and strong and muscled.

Though their quick explanations got him only to the front door, which buzzed as they escorted Malfoy back out into the hallway, where he stood in a daze back in the nice looking white room. The nurse's face, the same woman he had spoke with only hours earlier, she sat at her chair, blinking curiously at him through the glass. When finally, they slammed the single door back in Malfoy's ghostly pale face, they shut off all the noise that had echoed from the everlasting hallways behind it.


	18. We Were Soliders

**Vonne: **This chapter no one will guess because, while many might think I took the title from the 2002 film conveniently titled "We Were Soliders", I actually didn't. And the reason no one will guess where I picked up this chapter's title from is because its almost literally impossible to figure out. The story behind this one is that I was listening to the MIKA song, "We Are Golden" and then realized that Goyle, Crabbe, and Malfoy kind of had to be tough and military-like during their time at the manor. And I'm not saying that soldiers are brainwashed, but they were in the past by government and dictators. So, going back to the MIKA song, I took "We Are Golden" and changed it to 'Soldiers'. And also changed the 'are' to 'were', considering that the chapter consists of a memory. So, in reality, I only used the 'We' part of the MIKA song, but hey, it's still inspired by the song in reality. Make sense? It's alright if it doesn't. I'm just having fun with all these guesses and getting to explain them in reality. Once again, I'm rambling now...

**Dreamm Weaver: **Thank you for all your reviews; you almost managed to review every single chapter, but I completely understand how tiring that would be. I mean, there's already seventeen up for fuck's sake! I'm getting tired just browsing through them in order to check up on what I missed. I wanted to start off with your response because of how much you cared about my previous fiction, "A Reoccurring Nightmare". I would actually love to continue that story and, though I admittedly haven't written another chapter for it, I'm just waiting for a couple more reviews on it to do so. Thank you for all the enthusiasm! It definitely made my day.

**Tragic Slytherin: **Thank you so much! I'm so happy to be hearing back from you again! It always makes writing these worth while when I know that there are other people out there that enjoy reading what I put out! Thank you again for all the support!

**Lively McBrighten: **HAHA, your review made me laugh. Okay, okay, you got me. I have to update now, don't I? :)

**McLanna: **Thank you, I'm glad you're enjoying everything so far! I hope you like this next chapter, too!

**LE Candeh: **Definitely! Here's the next chapter for you!

**Psychic City: **Is this the proper time and place to nag you about updating your story? Hm...

**Midnight Demon: **Thank you! I'm so glad that you like this so far! It definitely makes it worth while. Are you caught up with everything, or is this your first time around reading this from the beginning?

**Doni: **Hmm... maybe he will end up there sooner or later? ;)

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**Chapter Seventeen:**  
**We Were Soldiers**

"Hermione." Draco Malfoy's back was pressed up to the back wall of his bedroom. Whatever time in the afternoon it was, he had been rather oblivious to it. Instead, he had been more particularly focused on the tiny toy, on his sweaty hands that had been gripping it. Before he'd climbed up the everlasting staircase to his bedroom, he'd been in much of a daze. He'd said hello to his father, who'd carefully smiled casually, and kissed his mother goodnight, who'd brushed his hair lovingly across his sweaty forehead. And, then again, neither of the two seemed all the wiser. Sure, he had just returned home from one of the biggest scares of his life, but the sullen and mortified expression on his face was one that just about everyone around him was getting used to. "Hermione, are you there?"

It hadn't been an official day since he'd spoken to Hermione, but Draco was already finding himself feeling distant. Though, despite the fact that they'd left each other on uneasy terms the last time they had spoken, Draco was beginning to grow anxious to let their silence grow any longer. Although the feeling of need and desire derived from want seemed foreign to him. For once in his life he found himself anticipating something that he was almost certain he could not live without. "Hermione, please, I need to talk to you."

Malfoy's shaky feet gave in. From underneath him, he could feel the earth moving, though his saner half told him that he was just hallucinating it. He squeezed his eyes shut, sinking to the floor with one single pathetic thud. When his legs stuck out in two opposite directions underneath him, he leaned back, and waited for an answer that he wasn't even entirely sure would even come. What surprised him, however, was how fast it did. "Draco," Hermione panted, as if she had made a feeble sprint towards her radio from across the bedroom, "what's a matter? Are you okay?"

Pausing, Draco considered this. How exactly he could answer her was, quite obviously, a concept that could go in a number of different ways. Technically, he was so-so; the last he'd checked feeling the ground rumble wasn't exactly the most sane thing he could think of. Nonetheless, of course, at the moment, he wasn't seeing or hearing the dead. Thus, he counted his blessings, for he guessed that they would not last for too long. "'M fine," he told her, considering his circumstances. And what was he going to tell her anyways? That he'd been foolish enough to try and speak with Beevis who, additionally, had foreseen him ending up in Hobb's sooner or later? Even in all his misery, such a suggestion made Draco laugh. Only he was crazy enough to take a madman seriously, he supposed. Hermione, being the intelligent woman that she was, would know far better.

Through the crackled speakers of their joined speaker systems, Hermione begun, "Draco, I wanted to talk to you."

The stress and worry in her voice was unmistakable. He could hear her anxiety even from miles away. He knew before she'd even started what she had planned to go on about. But what was he supposed to say? In all honesty he'd known- she had done the right thing. Despite his bitterness, despite everything he'd had against Ron and Harry. If he had been put in her position, he probably would have done the exact same thing. Though, the revelation did not make him feel any better. Still miserable and, admittedly, embarrassed, he relaxed his head backwards and said helpfully back to her, "no, it's okay."

"What do you mean 'it's okay'?" Hermione asked after a slight pause at her end of the radio. "You're not... not _mad _at me?"

Malfoy swallowed. Honestly, he couldn't believe it for himself. Perhaps he'd fallen far beyond insanity. "No," he admitted truthfully, "I'm not mad at you. Actually... I wanted to apologize."

"For?"

When Draco spoke, he said with extreme seriousness, "it was my fault that things were so miserable the last time." Shutting his stinging eyes, he said earnestly, ".. I should have been more gracious. You didn't have to do what you did... but, you did. And," Malfoy breathed in again, a short exhale that helped his voice from shaking too obviously. "And," he said, continuing over the nervous butterflies that maliciously flew throughout his ill stomach, "it helped."

On the other end, Hermione paused. She sat stilly in her bedroom, her eyes swollen and tearful as she stared back at the radio in her dual hands. An anxious feeling of passion and admiration swam through her very veins. It was a feeling that she wanted to welcome and shy away from at the same time. This new sensation, this churning ache that felt so uplifting, she couldn't help it, despite her fear, and despite her terror. She wanted to kiss him and shield him, all at the same time. However, she couldn't even find the strength enough to just move from the mattress. Thus, she cleared her face with the front of her palms, trying to stop a silly smile from spreading across her girlish face. "Can I come over?" she choked, feeling obliged to hide the subconscious joy that newly filled her voice. Months ago, when she had been laying over Malfoy's body by the bridge, she never would have guess that he could make her so... happy.

"Sure," Draco started before cutting himself off. "Shit, wait... no." He was slumped back up against his knees, inhaling quickly enough to explain, "not now, at least. I've got an appointment."

With her fingers tight around the little black radio, Hermione leaned in closer to the speakers. "An appointment." She did not ask; her comment was a mere statement, both nervous and anxious.

However, Draco did not sense the tenseness behind her longing tone. Instead, he picked himself up from off of the floor. He reached for his coat that had been tangled on the ground with the rest of his mess, and slipped it feverishly over each stick-like arm. "Yeah," he said, miserably, although he continued to pull himself together. This time, although, he decided to skip the check-up he had taken to giving himself in the mirror at every morning. It was at this point that, despite everything else, he had come to expect the worst of his appearance. "Well," he said, passing the glass with his head down and his shoes clumsily on his freezing pair of feet, "wish me luck."

Hermione breathed in. She held her breath and kept it there for several seconds that lingered out before her. She had two options- tell him, or not. And yet, as she had done for the past couple days, she decided against doing so. Thus, she deflated, allowing the captive breaths to emit from her mouth like a sequence of slow breaking waves. She closed her eyes and braced herself for self-disappointment, saying sloppily before hearing him shut the door to his bedroom, "good luck."

* * *

"Alright, Mr. Malfoy, I'd like you to close your eyes. Close your eyes and relax."

Had it have been several hours in Galler's dark office, perhaps Malfoy would have found it more easy to do so. However, such was not the case. From the very moment he'd arrived in Galler's office, she'd ushered him inside and skipped the formalities. Thus, he'd been instructed to reside in his current position which was, most obviously, on her couch. He'd worked himself up in quite a sweat, too. And it did not help matters when Elaine Galler, dressed in her long sweater and skirt, placed her hand on top of his and repeated, "relax." Surely, she had not be under the impression that such a simple act would just magically do so. Besides, it wasn't as if Malfoy had grown all that comfortable with Elaine in the first place. Though still, relaxing was not an option, really. The truth of the matter was, he would either have to relax, or leave the office empty handed. So, holding his breath, Malfoy conjured up in his head all the things that had once, in his lifetime relaxed him. Though all he could think about was Hermione.

Hermione Granger, with her long brown hair and her deep eyes, and her smile. Hermione Granger with her frumpy knitted sweaters, with her mittens on her hands that held that silly little radio. He thought of her in her room at night with the candles lit, thought of her at the library with her nose stuffed into the pages of some old book. He thought of her on the surface of the frozen over pond, her legs slipping in every opposite direction.

He held his breath. With his eyes pressed tightly shut, he released his clenched fists and sunk into a fuzzy blur.

_There was a flick, a swish, and then something hit him hard, smack dab in the center of his thundering chest. Malfoy, he had time enough to just manage to look up. His eyes scanned his new scenery, the dark vision of his home's hallway. At his right stood Goyle, whose hands were pitched at his front. He'd laced his meaty fingers around one another and tried to wipe the sweat off of them casually. But he was not fooling anyone. His nervousness was blatantly obvious and, suppressing a discontent sigh, Crabbe lolled his head to one side and tried not to appear too physically annoyed. Something about the passing time had seemed to harden Crabbe, who stood straight and still at Draco's left. His face showed no sign of fear and his eyes only flickered with anticipation._

_Crabbe, with his nice suit and slicked back hair, looked like a man of pure business. Like a sore thumb, he stood out from both Draco and Goyle, whose statures were all but perfect. Although, they'd been standing there in a straight line of three for what was going on an hour now. There, in the darkness, neither of the boys knew what really to anticipate. Of course, Goyle had taken to expect the worst. With his shivering posture and sweaty face, he kept to looking at his feet instead of at the empty hallway before him. Over the past several years of stress, Goyle had taken quite the turn for the tragic worst. He'd gained weight and his face had been tainted with lines and wrinkles that shouldn't have been present in the first place. No longer did he speak with the strong tone of a bully. Instead, his sentences came out in only a stutter. When he looked up for a moment back at Malfoy, his eyes were faulty with terror._

_However, Crabbe had seemed to have everything under control. He stood straight, arms stiff at his side. He looked like a soldier, unmoving. He had cut his hair short and muscled up. It had been ages since Draco had really had a true conversation with Crabbe, but he was certain that the boy's priorities had significantly changed. His hard demeanor and strict focus was unbreakable and, despite his statue-like stiffness, he still found the time to roll his eyes in aggravation and turn aggressively to Goyle._

_Crabbe wasted not a moment of time. He straightened his shoulders and his jaw, though managed to shift his face back in Goyle's jittery direction. Without hesitation, he twisted his face into an angry expression. "Stand up straight, for fuck's sake, Goyle!" he commanded, eyeing his friend with disapproval. "What's the matter with you?"_

_Goyle's eyes flickered up. He swallowed and glanced down again, checking himself out quickly. "S-sorry," he stammered anxiously. Then, hastily, he tried to readjust himself, cocking his chin up and squeezing his eyes shut. However, he couldn't for the life of his wipe the uneasy twitch that flicked behind his shut eyelids._

_"Dammit, Goyle," Crabbe hissed, leaning backwards and turning away from him. "Why the Dark Lord wastes his time with you..."_

_Though harsh, Crabbe's statement was probably more honestly the truth. From the other two boys, Goyle stood out unmistakably. His pudgy little face was tainted in salty sweat. The twitches that taunted him mercilessly became all the more obvious. Still, he managed to say nothing back to Crabbe in his defense. Only, he attempted to fix himself by readjusting his jaw and straightening his shoulders. Draco, trying bitterly to smooth out his own nervousness, cleared his throat. He turned back to Crabbe, whose eyes were only just two stones. "Lay off him."_

_"Him?" Crabbe choked, turning back to Malfoy with a reddened face. Goyle, on the other hand, only stiffened; his massive black eye standing out in even the lack of present light. "Him? What should I lay off of him for, huh? He's the one who is going to get us all screwed over." Then, after a minute had passed by, Crabbe added with an unapologetic grumble, "he and you both."_

_Malfoy's face reddened. He had been planning only on standing up for Goyle, though he surely had not planned on having to defend himself. "Oy," he said back, frustrated, "what do you mean he and I both?" The fear that he, Draco, had been upsetting Voldemort was, in fact, an unsettling idea. It was a terror that had been pestering him for quite some time. Though he did not let his terror show in the tone of his voice. Instead, he managed to sound generally offended, as if all he had ever wanted to do was to please the man that he had really only just feared most._

_But in the hallway that was just so dark, Crabbe stood oddly still. He shook his head briskly, as if he had really just had enough with the discussion, and returned to his military-like position. In a standardly erect stature, he stared at nothing but the long hall that carried out in front of him, the portraits lined with nothing. Instead, the walls were bare, having once supported nice family portraits of the Malfoys. Only some, on the other hand, had been left behind. As the silence passed between the three of them (and as Goyle tried desperately to better compose himself), Draco's eyes found one of the few snapshots left. The dingy thing was, truthfully, not that old of a portrait. The glass that it had been displayed behind was cracked and scratched, done so by Bellatrix in the early morning. The crack in the glass had split Malfoy from both of his parents, forever a separate being from both his mother and father forever._

_Nothing happened as the time passed, though Malfoy could not quite keep himself focused. With Goyle nervously fidgeting at his side, the most he could make out was the tiny little mutterings coming from the anxiety-ridden lad's fast moving lips. He mumbled something that Malfoy could not possibly understand, and then lifted his big meaty hand to push the massive amount of rain-like sweat that flooded from his pudgy face. The sorrow that Malfoy felt toward Goyle laid in on his fairly quickly. Couldn't Crabbe see the stress he had instantly added to Goyle's already uneasy stature? By the looks of Crabbe's annoyed expression, Draco figured that he was more than exceedingly aware. Still, he managed to swallow his own bitterness toward Crabbe and leaned in towards him slightly. Under his breath he said, "say something to him."_

_Crabbe's eyes flickered. "I'm not going to say something," he said carelessly, "he'll figure it out on his own when he blinks and he's been buried six feet under with the rest of this useless lot."_

_Draco analyzed Crabbe's demeanor; the scuffed and rough look on his face was, after all, fairly intimidating. The muscles he had developed over his time with the Death Eaters made him all the more unapproachable, as well. And though he still wasn't exactly the brightest boy of his age, he had seemed to gain some insight to the ways of the world as well. Gone were the days when Crabbe tagged around Malfoy like a lost little puppy; this was something that even Draco had come to terms to. Of course, he had never really bothered to try and coax Crabbe into doing much since they had arrived at the mansion under Voldemort's orders. Then again, he had not really talked much since then either._

_So, instead of speaking again in a forceful tone, Malfoy instead took a far more meek route. He glanced back at Goyle, watched the nervous twitches that overtook his visage, and whispered back to Crabbe under his breath, "just... calm him down a bit."_

_Vincent Crabbe's face faltered. He lifted his face away from the hall and locked his eyes back into Malfoy. "What am I going to say to him, huh?" he asked, fiercely. The fire in his eyes was unmistakable. It lifted from his enraged pupils and roasted his entire complexion._

_Malfoy glanced back down the hallway, the first to break away from Crabbe's angry staring contest. Any minute now he knew that someone was going to bust through the double doors. Goyle's unsteady exterior was something that would definitely not handle well. "Something," he said, swallowing. As he glanced back, he noticed that his heart was beating rapidly in the pit of his chest. A cold sweat was beginning to break out on his own miserable face. He couldn't see straight and the thoughts in his head were beginning to grow into one large blur. "Anything... just-"_

_But it was too late. The moment Malfoy had opened his mouth, the kissing doors flung open. A large dark shadow was instantly cast upon the marble floor below them. Dark and ominous, the hideous thing shielded the three boys faces in an instant. Draco, Crabbe, and even Goyle all stiffed in the very moment. Like soldiers, their mouths shut and their eyes stared lifelessly ahead. Even Crabbe could not hold a brave expression and the man at the end of the hall was not easily fooled. From behind his shade, a long and windingly thick snake emerged. It coiled itself around the floor and hissed passed the cracked portrait that hung on the now shameful family wall._

_Nagiani's pink tongue flicked out around her mouth and she passed by the polished shoes of the three boys terribly. However, her presence was only just slight. Hastily, she slithered by and wound her way up the railing of the staircase before coiling down it and vanishing completely from sight. And yet the shadow was still present. Two snake-light yellow eyes shone through the darkness like a pair of horrible little slits. His long slender fingers gripped the circumference of his skinny wand with a purpose. Two bare feet stuck out just slightly from his long black robe. When he stepped forward, it was as if he did so without lifting a single leg. Instead, he strode forward as if he were only just sliding along the marble floor like a specter._

_"I heard," said the rotting man who, by all means, should have been dead long ago, "that we had a guest the other day. One. Unexpected. Guest." Goyle, at Malfoy's side, whimpered. Though Voldemort did not seem to notice. Still, he slid forward without moving a muscle. Instead, he added, "Who left very, very soon..."_

_One guest. One unexpected guests. Malfoy did not need a moment's thought to attempt to crack Voldemort's code; he knew right away who he was referring to. Harry Potter. It had not been even days since Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the rest of their lot had been taken into the Malfoy Manor. His throat ran instantly dry. He had known this was coming, though he had been dreading it ever since the entire lot of them had escaped. What followed was a trail of his own sweat, though he did not dare to lift his hands in attempts to push it away. He swallowed a massive lump in the pit of his throat. He wish his watering eyes to vanish and hoped that they would not give him away._

_And yet, Voldemort's high pitched voice still echoed throughout the hallway. "Now, pray tell... what was the cause of their premature departure?" The toweringly daunting man allowed his eyes to shift. Much to Malfoy's relief, they landed on Crabbe. "We'll start with you, Crabbe," he spat._

_The most built of the boys flinched. His once stoney eyes looked wet with longing. "I," he said with a slightly stammer, "I...w-wasn't t-there, s-s-sir."_

_Voldemort's yellow pupils shifted. His mouth slightly twitched. "Excuse me?" he said, the bitterness rising in his tense chest._

_"I... I w-wasn't there, s-sir" Crabbe repeated only slightly less unsteady._

_The minutes that passed between the four seemed to drag on for hours. Voldemort, in all his towering structure, stood stiff. His eyes did not move, and he breathed through his nostrils. He breathed so forcefully, that Malfoy was certain he could just about see the smoke arise from them. And he did not just look mad; his eyes lit up like bonfire. The raging fire that burning behind them could have burned the three boys into nothing but black ash. And the mere aroma about him was all the more furious. Though he did not move. For a moment, he stood still in all his statuesque glory until finally hissing, "then, who was?"_

_The question, though reasonable, was all the more obviously just a test. The intense glaze that reeked so bluntly behind the bitter man's narrow gaze was, by all means, all knowing. Though his game was only just to play with Crabbe- to see how loyal he truly was. He cocked up his pointed chin and glared down at the anxious Crabbe over the tip of what was left of his nose. Crabbe seemed to have lost any amount of confidence that had graced him beforehand. Instead, he seemed to pause for a moment and consider himself slightly before deciding upon what to do next. Still, he only lifted up his head and, with a heafty amount of strength, locked his eyes back into Voldemort's._

_Breathing in, his heavy chest rose with his new inhale of breath. "Draco," he said without any further fit of hesitation, "Draco was there."_

_On the axis of his neck, Voldemort's head spun slow. His eyes narrowed further, if even humanly possible, and they stuck directly on Malfoy, who could feel his icy veins freeze. In his chest, his heart nearly skipped a beat. About the dark man standing over him, there was not much to think- not that Malfoy could manage to think at this point, anyway. His mind had gone fuzzed, numb with an overly excessive fit of panic. Malfoy's heart collapsed in his chest._

_"Is that so?" Voldemort finally breathed. There was a look of pure accomplishment on his face. His eyes slid away from Crabbe at last, who breathed a long sigh of relief. He did not turn back to look over at Draco, however. Instead he remained frozen, his hands at his side and his face strictly forward. Voldemort, the floating demon, his feet dragged along the floor as he made his way reaching out towards Malfoy. The smile on his face slowly crept into sight. The curtains of his mouth finally drawn away, it was his jagged yellow teeth that were now all the more visible. "Draco Malfoy," he said, the fury all the more obvious, but the smile only present to taunt, "Draco Malfoy lets Harry Potter get away... well, that _is_ a surprise; now isn't it, boys?"_

_Crabbe's thick head bobbed up and down, the red tint still present on his relieved face. And yet, it was the lingering silence, or rather steadiness, from Goyle's side that drew Voldemort's attention towards him. He pinpointed himself back onto the most nervous of the three. But Goyle had not yet noticed. In fact, he hadn't seemed to have been paying attention to the conversation in the first place. Rather, his main focus was on the hallway, blinking mindlessly down the majority of it until he had expected the night to be over. However, his mechanism of coping was not at all acceptable. Though he was not aware that he had been caught, he continued in his anxiety-driven gaze, none the wiser._

_Though, still, Voldemort's voice was unmistakable. "What do you think, Goyle?" he finally asked, after glancing at him for a moment while deciding what, exactly, to do with the situation._

_Goyle blinked. The twitchiness that had before tainted his posture had swelled back to him with full force. Terrified, he wiped his perspiring hands on his nice trousers, perhaps forever ruining them. His swallowed a large lump in his throat and then cleared it uselessly. At his side, Crabbe's stomach clenched. He pressed his eyes shut and prayed that Goyle could manage to keep himself together. But Goyle only stood stiff, awkward at first, though finally seeming completely lost in his anxiety. His absent mind flickered and then, stammering, he asked unsteadily, "S-S-Sorry, s-s-sir... what w-was t-the question?"_

_Electricity sparked before Voldemort's angry eyes. "I asked you," he said, fuming, "what you think of the way Malfoy handled Harry Potter!"_

_With his sweaty little face and his clammy hands, Goyle appeared to curl within himself at the sudden realization that he had been targeted. He glanced back over at Malfoy, hoping to see that he was giving him a secret 'go', as if to subconsciously tell him to go on and tell the truth. However, Malfoy was doing nothing of the sort. With his head down and his hands dully at his side, he looked as if he had been dreading this moment for years, despite it being so blatantly recent. His glossy eyes looked fazed, as if he had just hardly prepared himself for whatever it was that was coming next. Though, even in the lack of the light, Goyle could see the purple bruises that had damaged his face. They were the very same bruises that both he and Crabbe bore, however, something about seeing them on Malfoy's white complexion made Goyle feel instantly sick._

_How was it that they'd got there, anyway? At only seventeen years old, weren't they supposed to be finishing courses at Hogwarts? Writing term papers? Asking girls to end of the year dances? The three of them had not seen Hogwarts in what seemed like ages, hadn't wrote a single paper, either. They could, of course, forget about girls altogether. There was no time to think about something so minutely vital, anyways. Not when there were bigger issues at hand. Besides, if Voldemort's plans worked out the way he had promised they would, half of the girls at Hogwarts would be dead in a couple of weeks anyway._

_And all Goyle wanted to do was to go to bed. All that he desired to do was to crawl in under the covers and pull the sheets up to his head. He wanted to sleep just for one peaceful night, to sleep without any nightmares whatsoever, and wake up to how life was. Before all this chaos. Before all the murder, and dark magic, and chaos. Before his black eye and Crabbe's personality change. He wanted to look over at Malfoy and see a face clear of bruises and cuts, and he wanted to look in the mirror and see someone that he could just even slightly recognize._

_He blinked. And nothing was different. He was still in the black hallway, and the dark man was still standing over him. Voldemort's impatient waiting had, as well, begun to draw down hastily. And though he had lost his smile long ago, the intensity behind his narrow eyes seemed to triple. "Malfoy..." Goyle started, glancing towards the scratched wallpaper and then towards his polished shoes. "I thought that M-Malfoy... err- h-he..."_

_"Is that a flicker of fear I can sense behind those eyes, Goyle?" Voldemort cut him off. Disgusted, he looked Goyle up and down before continuing to wait for an answer._

_But Goyle only froze. He paused in his pathetic stuttering, only to add helplessly, "N-no.. I-I'm n-not... n-no f-fear at all, s-sir..."_

_Voldemort's eyes intensified, "are you lying to me?" he hissed, moving in._

_Crabbe pressed his eyes shut, his fists clenching at his side. Only Draco's head moved. His lips slightly parted and his arms were left to dangle lifelessly at his slender sides. He glanced up at Goyle, praying for him to build up any late amount of confidence. However, such a wish seemed all the more fruitless. In a sorry attempt to better himself, Goyle only spit out, "N-n-no, s-sir!"_

_The boney arm of Voldemort rose upward, revealing his daunting wand in the little light of the room. For a minute he froze there, holding it up in front of Goyle as only a threat. Though the moment of possible terror only lasted an instant. Tired of the boy's useless fit of rambling, Voldemort shouted, "_Crucio!" _and Goyle's knees locked within the minute. A small little gag emitted from his throat. He landed in a heavy thud upon the marble flooring and Malfoy stumbled back, horrified as he just barely missed his feet. Though Crabbe remained physically unfazed; only his upper teeth bit down on his lower lip. And still, he kept his focus on the wall in front of him, staring only at the darkness that reached on before him._

_Though, the little chocking noises echoed around the room from Goyle's dry throat. With his fingers tight around his wand, Voldemort did not seem to have any intention of letting go anytime soon. Instead, the wildly sadistic expression was all the more obvious. He lifted his weapon, shouted again, and Goyle's head slammed back onto the floor. He curled anxiously into himself, as if millions of electric shocks were racing through his entire body. Reaching outward, his fingers tried to find something tangible, as if he was only just trying to find something that he could hold on to._

_In the darkness Malfoy waited, waited for Voldemort to lower his wand, to leave the room. But the moments only seemed to drag on, and the blood poured from Goyle's mouth, as he had bit down hard on his tongue. The sweat poured from Malfoy's skull, his blond hair in a mess on his face. The look in Voldemort's eyes was clear, and if he went any longer, the possibility of Gregory Goyle surviving would almost be extinct. Draco held his breath, pressed his eyes shut. Yet even behind the blackness of his eyelids, he could still hear Goyle's desperate chokes._

_"Stop!" Draco shouted. He could feel his heart rising in his throat, feel it almost about to spill from his mouth entirely. "Please," he yelped, glancing up from Goyle and back at Voldemort, "stop. You're going to kill him!"_

_Crabbe's face reddened. Mortified, he whispered through clenched teeth, "shut up, Draco... just let him-"_

_However, Malfoy only ignored Crabbe. He fell forward, his hand on Goyle's twitching shoulder, and spun him around on the tile, lifting his head off of the ground while trying unsuccessfully to hold his hands still. "Please," he said over the awful sounds that Goyle made through the hallway. They echoed around the room and would not leave Draco's ears. "S-Stop!"_

_And then, in the instant, Goyle's body stopped moving. The sounds from his throat stopped. Once again the hallway was completely silent. With his eyes tightly shut, Draco was sure he'd been killed. The motionless heap of Goyle in his arms made not a single sound. Malfoy suppress a tiny sob in his throat, choked back tears as he could hear Voldemort's breath sound out through the room. Until finally, Goyle's chest rose. He gasped, as if he had been held under water. Twisting, he pulled himself away from Draco and positioned himself with his back on his floor, eyes unblinking up at the damaged face._

_"Get up," Voldemort finally said and Malfoy pulled himself from the ground without any hesitation. He clamored back to his feet, stumbling away from the hyperventilating Goyle quickly._

_Though Draco could only feel the anger that swelled through him. He had almost seen his best friend die. Furthermore, he had almost let it happen. The man before him, he did not care about any of them. He didn't care about Goyle's life and if he had taken it away. He didn't care about Crabbe, either, as much as Crabbe had wanted to believe otherwise. And, after the night that he realized that he could not kill Dumbledore, Voldemort had not cared about Draco Malfoy, either. The three of them, they were there for one reason only. And Malfoy wasn't even sure if they had been written in on Voldemort's end plans, anyway. Perhaps he would just write them off in the end. Perhaps, one by one, he would send them to bed, and they would simply just never, ever wake up._

_The sweat was lashing off of Malfoy's face. He had never felt more hot in his entire life. Shaking, his hands felt as if they could fall loose from his wrists at any moment. "You came here for me," he said, almost unable to completely look the half-deceased being in the eyes directly, "not for him."_

_The rotting man flinched. However, his mouth twitched upwards again within the moment. The spark was behind his rather fierce gaze. Over the sound of Goyle's gasping on the floor, over the noise of Draco's horrified breaths, he drew up his shoulders in a quick shrug and said instantly, "as you wish..."_

_

* * *

_

Draco bolted upwards. Slippery, his sweaty hands gripped the side of the elongated therapist seat and he slid from it restlessly. The outline of Elaine Galler, having stumbled backwards herself, only showed half way in the darkness. Blinking, Draco glanced around. He could feel the tightness in the pit of his chest slowly beginning to subside. The rush of cool air flowed through the open windows and allowed the long curtains to sweep in through the room in a way that was somewhat dazzling. No longer was he in the hallway, no longer was Goyle in a desperate mess at his feet. The chilly office, the tall woman before him; Draco's nightmare had ended far more quickly than it had started.

However, the panting disaster that he was in on the floor was not, by all means, helping his situation much. His hair was a sopping wet mess, despite having washed it only hours earlier, and his clothes were dirty with pools of salty sweat. He lifted a shaky hand and managed to settle it on his chest; inside, his heart pounded nothing but battery acid.

"Draco," Elaine said to him, reaching outwards. Her steady palm found Malfoy's heaving shoulder. "Draco, I think we need to talk." Talk? Draco could hardly manage to think, let alone form any sort of understandable sentences. Though the look on Galler's face was serious and Malfoy slipped his head up and down into a slight nod before swallowing and leaning back in an exhausted heap into the couch behind him.

Galler's face was wrinkled. In the light, the lines of her worry were all the more present. She said carefully, "do you need a glass of water?" And despite the fact that he would have killed for it, Malfoy shook his head no. "Okay," she continued, breathing in. "I would like to talk to you about your current state of mind, if you don't mind."

She leaned in, offered Malfoy her hand and waited for him to take it. When he did so, however, she seemed oddly taken back at the unsteadiness of it. Still, she managed to help him to his swaying feet, moving him back onto the couch. He slipped onto it in a miserably loose manner and remained seated with his eyes closed. He appeared old in the way in which he sat, as if he'd lived a life that had drawn on far too long. It was, among many things, one of the mannerisms about the blond that Galler noticed instantly. She noticed the quiver about his entire posture, and the way that he could just barely support his head in the palms of his wet hands. She saw the scrapes and bruises on his arms with his sleeves rolled up. Just above his collar she could make out the line of a thick pink scar, just above his collarbone.

He was not, by any means, fit for any typical environment. He was nothing more than a broken boy, one who had been tragically denied his childhood, one who had seen far more than anyone should see in a lifetime. He was miserable and helpless and frightened. He was nothing more than damaged goods.

"Mr. Malfoy," Elaine Galler continued, breathing in, "I think its time you consider Hobb's Institute as-"

"What?" Malfoy's head snapped upwards. His bloodshot eyes, they stared back at Elaine Galler as if he had never before seen her in his life. His body took on an entirely new form of shaking. So tortured had he made himself that there seemed to be no physical way to calm him. His shoulders sunk and his eyes glazed over at the very moment. "W-What a-are you talking about?"

Galler's throat ran dry. The look on Draco's face was not an easy one to take in. However, she pushed herself, for it was her occupation. "I think," she said, despite the roughness of the situation, "that, considering some of the instances I've seen-"

"N-no," Malfoy stammered, "y-you're s-supposed to m-make me better... y-you're supposed to f-fix me... not send me away."

"No one is sending you anywhere right now," Elaine clarified, feeling an instant rush of sympathy for him. "It's only an advisement, Draco. Not all patients are committed to-"

But Malfoy was shaking his head. Despite his shivering, he reached out towards his jacket on the ground and swallowed the persisting lump in his throat. "I t-think I'm done here," he told her, trying to compose himself. However, his attempts at doing so had gone rather unsuccessful. Only, he reached for his stuff on the ground and did not bother to yank them back onto his body again. In a desperate hurry, he stuffed them under his arm and tried to keep a steady pace. "I t-think I-I'm done coming here."

But Elaine stepped forward, watching him make way for the door hurriedly. "No, Draco," she started. But as soon as she'd begun, he'd found the knob, whisked open the door of her freezing cold office, and stumbled out of sight.


	19. Bittersweet Sympathy

**Vonne: **Since lately I've been spilling the secrets about how I've come up with chapter titles, I was all prepared to do the same with this chapter, however, I don't think this one really needs much of an explanation. I'm sure all of you have heard the song "Bittersweet Symphony". Thus, I just played around with the last word, seeing as Bittersweet Symphony was the only song I've heard by The Virve and I wasn't about to go and promote The Virve without knowing anything about them. Still, its rather obvious, this one, isn't it? :)

Well, only one more chapter to go until I get us all caught up finally!

**Tragic Slytherin: **HA, no, Ms. Galler lacks an amount of sympathetic professionalism, doesn't she? Your review made me laugh. Maybe you should become a therapist! You've already got Therapy 101 down. Hell, I'd see you!

**Midnight Demon: **Oh good! I'm glad that you've decided to submit a review sooner or later to let me know what you've been thinking about what I have written so far. And I am so flattered that you liked reading this so much, even if you're not much of a Draco x Hermione shipper anymore. Your comments made my day! Thank you so much!

**Le Candeh: **I know! Trust me, I totally feel your anticipation. I just want to get to the new chapters, too. It's killing me as much as it is killing you!

**McLanna: **Maybe you're psychic! ;)

**Lively McBrighten: **Yep, exactly! Draco and Goyle have definitely grown even closer after both surviving the whole 'Ex-Death Eater' ordeal, but Malfoy saving Goyle's life all those years ago definitely has helped Malfoy's situation. In fact, there will be further discussion coming into these chapters later on in the future. Good call!

**Dreamm Weaver: **Thank you! I will definitely keep 'A Reoccurring Nightmare' in mind. I had a lot of fun writing that one, and I don't see why I couldn't finish it up...

**Psychic City: **Definitely! And I was true to my word, wasn't I? HA, your British-ness cracks me up. Being born in America before moving to the ol' U of the K, I'm more used to American slang. Still, now my speech is all wonky because I'm someplace in limbo now. I'll use both English phrases and then American phrases, but really, I just come out sounded ridiculous.

**Carl: **It really did sneak up on me, didn't it? And I have to admit, honestly, I'm still not done with that new chapter. At the moment, I'm working out the finishing touches. I want it to be long and well worth the wait, for sure.

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen:**  
**Bittersweet Sympathy**

In a heap under her bedcovers, she was nothing more than a body, positioned in the night as she slept through the darkness. The slender lump under the sheets, it rose and fell with the sound of oncoming snores. Though mild, they echoed through the bedroom and blended in with the whooshing sounds of wind that creaked through the slightly open window. Hermione Granger, dead to the conscious wold, rolled over in her unconsciousness, her frizzy brown hair a mess around her pure face. She had tangled herself further in her bed sheets and still managed to be freezing despite the pile of fabric on top of her. Yet, lifelessly, she slumped back towards the edge of the bed, made an unknowing grasp towards the sheets, and pulled them back over her head before relaxing once more into dreamworld.

However, unbeknownst to her, something staggering stumbled in the night just at the exterior of her sleepy home. Swaying, the shadow remained the only being that threatened to disrupt her peace. It lunged, making its way to the door messily before lifting a shaky pale hand and colliding its fist onto the front door into a chorus of unsteady knocks. _Bang. Bang. Bang. The dreaming household of three awoke within the moment. Harry, in his room, jolted up from the mattress, his hand instantly reaching out for the glasses he'd set aside; Ron, fumbling upward, found his wand that he'd left at the ready near his pillow; and Hermione, who had just barely managed to untangle herself from the covers, allowed her eyes to find the radio even throughout the darkness._

The redhead emerged from his room in a quick jump, his fingers in a tight grip at the circumference of his weapon. His focus found the front door and his heart beat feverishly in his chest. The banging had stopped, but the sound of someone pacing was all the more obvious. Ron shifted in his place at the doorframe of his bedroom and almost hexed Hermione as she came through the door of hers. Though Harry, who was far less suspicious than Ron, slipped from his room with his fingers at his eyes. Rubbing them tiredly, he asked in a hushed whisper, "what time is it?"

Ron glanced upwards, out through the window back in the kitchen. Outside, the night sky seemed to consume everything in sight. Not a tree was visible under all the blackness. Only the flakes of white snow reflected the light of the moon back to him. "I dunno," he shrugged. Despite his uncertainty, he was positive that, whatever time it was, they had not been expecting any late visitors. He retracted, guessing that it was somewhere between eleven and twelve at night, and then, impatiently, he cocked his head towards the front door asking, "do you want me to get it?"

He did not, however, wait much for an answer. Though neither Hermione nor Harry had said anything, they looked back towards the door with curiously fearful expressions. But Ron couldn't help himself. The pounding in his chest was all the more unbearable. He could feel it, the involuntary shaking that tainted his wrists. And, with that, he made way towards the door and pulled it open with an anxious pull. However, it so seemed that all his anticipation had been built up for nothing. Shoulders sinking, he lowered his wand and said with nothing more than a rather unimpressed sigh, "oh."

There, pacing in the doorway, was Draco Malfoy. He was minus a jacket, and looked as if he had just run a mile. Slightly green, he swayed at the doorframe for a moment and the moonlight showed on his face that he had been crying. His breath was visible through the chilliness of the winter night and it smelt like nothing more than an over excessive amount of hard liquor. Malfoy flinched, blinking at the unexpectedness of having Ron answer the door, and then stumbled back slightly. He raised his hands to his head, looking instantly embarrassed, and wiped away any sign of sweat or tears from his visage. "Er," he asked uncomfortably, "is uh... i-is H-Hermione h-home?"

Ron's face slumped. However, he kept his soldier-like stature. Holding his wand out in front of him steadily, he responded without much thought, "nope."

Malfoy's face reddened. He did not move. Instead, he only stumbled back, sniffling, and wiped his runny nose on the sleeve of his shirt. He looked as if he had been hit by a train; his blond hair a distinct mess around his sweaty forehead. The longer he stood in uneasy silence, the more and more wobbly his stance became. Even more obvious was the streaks of water running from his cheeks. He gave himself one last swipe over with the front of his palm, and tried to rid himself of any more embarrassment before asking timidly, "b-but I jus' spoke with her..."

"Why don't you," Ron started, cocking his head towards Draco's trouser pocket, "contact her through your little toy, hm?"

"Ron!" came a little noise from behind the redhead and, instantly, a second shadow came into view. Hermione Granger, with her frizzy hair pulled back, pushed her way towards her friend with a slightly annoyed expression.

Malfoy adjusted his face, stumbled slightly backwards, and took to flattening out the front of his clothes, though fairly unsuccessfully. It was, however, before Hermione had even found her way to him. And, in that moment, Ron could smell the overwhelming stench of hard liquor on the boy's rancid breath. He paced backwards for himself, a bit taken back by the awful smell, and the wand in his hand went instantly limp. Waving away the smell of alcohol from his nostrils, Ron's face crunched into an intensely disgusted grimace. He glanced down at Draco's scuffed feet; his swayed swagger suddenly made complete sense. Twisting away from the doorframe, Ron croaked, "are you... are you _drunk?"_

Hermione's face contorted. Having made it eagerly to Draco's side, she took hold of his elbow and scooted him past Ron in the frame of the front door. "Don't be ridiculous, Ronald," she scolded, scooting the hazy Malfoy towards the kitchen table and shoving a wooden seat underneath him. "Draco quit drinking a long while ago." With that, she hurried to the sink and swiped an empty glass from the countertop before her. Filling the thing high to the top with water, she set it in front of Malfoy and watched him reach for it with shaky hands. Harry squinted behind his glasses, watching Malfoy lift the thing in a daze, hold it unsteadily with one hand, and then reach to steady it with the other. Malfoy gulped, gripping the glass as if it were to fly out from his grasp at any given moment. And Harry was certain he had never seen a person more blatantly intoxicated in his entire life.

"Oh, Draco..." Hermione mused, taking instant notice of Malfoy's inability to even hold the cup still. She flopped down in the seat beside him and reached her fingers up to his, prying the thing from his grip in the instant. She winced at the liquor smell and reached up sadly to brush the putrid hair from his forehead. It seemed that she had forgotten all about Harry and Ron in the room, for they stood in curious silence themselves. "Draco," she said smoothly, her free hand on his knee, "what happened?"

Malfoy swallowed, glanced down, and noticed that the wooden floor was moving underneath him. In all honesty, he hadn't expected himself to react the way he had after Galler had suggested Hobb's as a suitable future residence. Quite frankly, the Malfoy that he had hoped he had become would have gone straight home. However, it so seemed that he, Draco, was not as evolved as he had expected. When he'd left Galler's office, after he'd stumbled down the stairs in his own bit of flash delirium, he's slipped the hood of his bulky jacket up over his face, scooted out into the streets of the city, and stumbled into the nearest pub he could find.

Once there, he'd ordered everything he could think of. Ordered whatever toxin he could come up with that would, in due time, wipe away the news that Galler had spit at him. After the first glass of liquor, he could hardly remember leaving her office room, after the fourth, he could hardly remember ordering any of them at all. However, the news still had managed to stick. After all the drinks, he could not seem to forget the session and the memory and the mention of Hobb's. After everything, there it was... still persisting and present after all that time.

He said through the croaking of his voice, "I went to Galler's office-"

Instantly, Hermione shoulders dropped. Her own face took on an entirely new shade of scarlet. A rush of hasty sympathy flowed rapidly through her. Defeated, she said sorrowfully, "oh, Draco, I-"

"She said that H-Hobb's w-was a suitable p-place for..."

Once again Hermione cut him off. She shook her head, and shoved the glass cup of water back in his direction. "Please," she begged, ignoring him, "d-drink this, alright? Th-there's no use worrying about something that's not going to happen."

Malfoy glanced down at the drink. Then, shaking his own head, he slumped back down in his chair. "I-It is g-going to happen. S-Sooner or later, it's going to h-happen..."

Arm slipping from Draco's shoulder, Hermione looked back up at Harry. Her pleading expression made his face whiten and he slumped down ever so slightly. Thus, noticing Hermione's depressed face, Harry stepped forward and smoothed out the mess that was his own head of dark black hair. "Er... uhm... Malfoy," he begun, slowly, "I'm sure you're only worrying over nothing. If it helps," he added, glancing over at Hermione once again before continuing, "you can stop going to see Elaine Galler for a while."

"That's as far as I've got," Malfoy murmured. The way in which the light passed over his glassy eyes made him look as if they were merely just windows to his soul. Morose and solemn, he was shaking when he said flatly, "I think I'll just go c-crawl in a hole now." Then, slumping forward, he buried his head into the crook of his arm and downed the swing of nausea in his acid-ridden throat.

Ron, turning to Harry slowly, muttered slightly, "when did he get so pathetic?"

With his head pinned down to the table, Draco's shoulders rose and fell. In tiny little laughing motions, his upper torso jerked quickly before he once again pulled his face up from his sweaty limbs. When he lifted his chin upwards, the group of three could finally see his reddened face and his bloodshot eyes. He looked both completely insane and chronically depressed. The light blond hair stuck closely to his sweaty face and the front of his visage was shimmering with sweat. "W-When did I get so pathetic?" he asked, chocking slightly, "well, I don't know for certain, but I've got some pretty ace theories, Weasley. Would you like to hear them?"

The sarcasm dripping from Draco's voice was rather unmistakable, however, he was shaking in his seat, reaching towards the edge of the table to pull himself up. Finally his fingers caught the edge of it and, he drunkenly pulled himself to a wobbly stance. Hermione, at the seat nearest his, made a quick grab for his dangling arm, but missed as he staggered away from the kitchen table and lifted an unsteady finger in Ron's direction. "B-Because I-I would lahhh-ve to tell you _all_ about them."

Flinching, Ron's hand flew to his trouser pocket. Once again whisking the wand from the depths of it, he forced it out in front of his chest and glanced back over towards Harry, whose only choice of action was to stumble back uneasily. Malfoy staggered closer to the two, ignoring Hermione from behind him. Dripping sweat, Malfoy added hysterically, "I've b-been hearing voices." His finger shot back to himself, hovering just by his own face, "I've b-been _seeing_ h-him... right in front of me. S-Standing there, whispering t-things..."

Malfoy's hands grabbed for the kitchen counter and, with the bulk of it, he managed to keep himself standing on his own two feet. "S-Sometimes I-I c-can't see anything and my vision just goes. Or, or the ground s-shakes. Lucky nights, all that... it's j-just a nightmare; l-lucky nights I don't w-wake up to the sight of _V-V-Voldemort _at the edge of my bed!"

Ron's fingers gripped the end of his wand tightly. Flinching, he said in a quivering tone, "_s-stay _away from me, Malfoy!"

"You going to hex me, Weasley?" Draco laughed, tossing his head to one side so forcefully that his blond hair swung slightly across his forehead. He thrust out his arms and held them open, exposing his heaving chest. "Good!" he cried, coughing, "I've already t-tried to e-end it myself! B-But I couldn't even manage _that." _He turned away from Ron, locking eyes with Harry. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. The boy who Draco had spent a large majority of his entire life hating. The boy who had seen it all, as well. He, Malfoy, was not so different from Harry Potter, after all. As much as he hated to admit it, Harry Potter knew exactly what he was going through. He'd seen the ghosts and he'd heard their voices. In that sense, they were connected- and Malfoy would have never, ever imagined it. Returning back to Harry, he said, "And going on, and surviving a jump off of a fucking _bridge_... that m-means I still hear the voices." His voice broke and his eyes spilled over with tears once more, "and I still see him standing there."

Draco's shaking hands found the center of his chest. "I-It's s-still t-there. That feeling of emptiness a-and tightness. T-T-That damn _black hole!_"

His shoulders slumped. There, in front of Ron and Harry, he seemed to have lost it. The front of his chest bobbed up and down and his only support was that of the kitchen counter. His shirt, soaked with sweat, hung low on his body as if it were far too big for him. The end of it had come out from being tucked into his pants and his tie was crooked, loose and dangling. In the light, the purple bruise around his eye was visible, as was the massive split on his upper lip. The scar on his forehead looked painful and irregular, though it blended in perfectly with the state of him. His face contorted and he swallowed, his arms still outstretched, pressing his eyes shut, the tears dripped from his shut eyelids unwillingly. Humiliation bobbed in his chest, but he was beyond noticing, beyond caring. What was the point? What was the point of giving a damn if the most he had to look forward to was ending up in an institution bed, drugged out on a nightly basis?

That wasn't going to stop the nightmares, wasn't going to stop the visions, or the voices. It wouldn't stop the pain and the consuming feeling. He was doomed, cursed to be insane. And it would never, ever leave him. Fidgeting in her seat, Hermione glanced back upwards. She focused back at Harry, but spoke to Malfoy pleadingly. "Draco, please," Hermione croaked, sliding her hands forwards. She glanced down towards the empty seat, saying, "sit down, you're hysterical."

Malfoy's arms flopped down. Loose at his side, he opened his eyes and did not bother to blink out the tears that blurred his vision. There in the corner of the room stood the shadowy man. Lord Voldemort, leaning on the kitchen counter, a half-smile on his rotting face. Through the fountain-like waterworks that blinded him, he could still make out his slit-like eyes, could still hear the hissing of the dead man's breath that sounded so much like a snake. He did not bother shouting, or notifying the others. He would not go away. He would not be merciful, not even in death.

Suppressing yet another sob in his throat, Malfoy leaned back towards the chair, reached for his bulky coat, and said hoarsely, "this was a mistake."

However, a new shadow stepped in front of him. The shadow covered Voldemort's and hid him momentarily from Draco's eyesight. Harry Potter, with his wand out at the ready, shook his head. A stern expression was etched across his serious face. "No," he said, his wand hovering just before Malfoy's chest. Malfoy, however, did not blink. He only watched the weapon carefully before glancing back up at Harry, returning his gaze with a just as blank expression. "You're not going out there drunk."

The crook of Hermione's smile lifted, but Draco did not seem all too pleased. Instead, his tearful eyes glistened. Unimpressed, he stepped forward slightly, the numbness in his head just managing to consume him bitterly. Draco kept a straight face and, unflinching, he said, "what's it matter to you, Potter?"

Harry's face twitched. "Because," he said flatly, "if you go out there in the state you're in, you're _going_ to end up in _jail,_ let alone an institution."

Malfoy's head spun. Perhaps Harry was right. Though the feeling of haziness was not due to his intoxication. He was sure that it was his head, his messed-up head that had brought him nothing but trouble. Churning, the butterflies mixed around dizzily in his stomach and he suppressed the urge to double over in front of them. But the intensity in his guts came too fast, grew too strong. Malfoy's sternness flinched and his pale face took on a shade of sickly green. He gulped, eyes widening, and then fell back into the chair. Groaning embarrassed, Malfoy lifted his shaking hand and slipped it up at his sweaty forehead, sinking back down on the kitchen table top mercilessly.

"Just..." Harry started, sinking down a little bit. He lost his toughness and had begun to feel a slight onset of sympathy rush through him, "... just relax. You're going to be fine, okay. I'll g-go to the Ministry and I'll help figure all this out. You've not been committed to Hobb's... right now, t-there's nothing to worry about, okay?" However, he wasn't entirely certain that Malfoy was even paying him much attention. With his head in the palms of his hands and his eyes pressed shut, he looked as if he had drifted off into a world of his own. And although he did not brush Hermione's hand off of his shoulder, he remained almost a numb little figure in the center of the midnight room.

"My parents don't know I'm here," Malfoy said silently, hoping to sway Harry. "I should head back." The humiliation of living with his parents had long gone. It was only a minor embarrassment to him among a long list of many.

"I'll contact the Ministry for tonight to let them know you're fine," Harry counteracted instantly, stifling Draco's urge to keep persisting he leave.

Hermione, eager at the chance to keep Malfoy safe, grabbed for his elbow and gently pulled him up from his seat. She did not seem to mind that he swayed on the floorboards, using her support much more than she had even intended. Harry, on quick feet, even shuffled over to help; however, only got as far to pick up Draco's jacket that had been left tossed over the back of the wooden seat. And Ron in the back, with his wand still out at his chest, deflated and glanced back over at the empty seat. He watched the three shadows limp in through the hallway, despising himself for feeling an odd amount of pity for Draco Malfoy.

In the distance, Hermione reached for the handle, nodded gratefully at Harry, and shuffled Malfoy in through the bedroom door, shutting it behind her and casting them into an instant pitch blackness. The slouch of Malfoy's body against the wall instantly filled her ears. His back against the massive thing, he slid down to the floor with a miserable groan and tossed his jacket to the side. Feverishly he kicked off his shoes and pressed his blond head backwards. Blinking in the darkness, he said as he stared into the room, "I'm sorry, Hermione. I don't know how you do it."

Hermione whisked the covers off of her own bed. Pausing in her work, she asked, "how I do what?"

"How you stick around with me," Draco admitted, wiping his face for the millionth time that night. "I've got to be... the most _fucked_ up arse on the entire planet. And it d-doesn't help that I'm l-loosing my mind, or that I'm a bloody drunk, or that y-you've got on P-Pansy's bad side, either. All that, it's my fault and... I don't know how you do it."

Her soft footsteps advancing towards him, Hermione offered Draoc her hand and once again helped him to his feet. He lost his balance, slipped crookedly on the floorboards, and slammed into the edge of her bed. Cursing, his face reddened. Hermione, however, forced Malfoy's hands downwards, pinning them at his side timidly. "I do it for a reason, Draco," she said back, moving her hands upward to grasp his anxious face. He watched her do so, a confused grimace sketched on his beaten visage.

Curiosity swelled through him. A cluster of nervous butterflies flew wild in his stomach. "Why?" he asked her, shaking his head timidly.

Outside the door, Harry and Ron had returned to their rooms in a daze. Hermione's eyes flicked and she watched the light go out from under her shut door. Then, feeling the glory of oncoming privacy, she turned back to Draco, using her own hands to wipe away his tainted face. "Because I love you, Draco Malfoy, every single fucked-up inch of you." Malfoy's face slumped, still rather baffled. His eyes narrowed in on her and, both nervous and confused, he looked as if she were in fact the crazy one. She leaned inwards and gently kissed his wet forehead. "I like your insanity," she said, gesturing to his head. "And I think you'll get over your drinking habits." Then, moving him towards her bed, she coaxed him to the mattress and pulled the covers on top of him.

Despite the fact that he was sitting in an upright position, she stood at the edge of the bed, like a mother tucking in her frightened child. Blinking, Draco looked back up at her, his hands supporting himself. He was, by all means, far more intoxicated than he had ever hoped to be. Perhaps rest, and not conversation, was the very best for him. "And," he asked in an innocent tone of voice, despite his need for instant rest, "what about Pansy?"

Glancing down at him over the bridge of her nose, Hermione bent forward. "I can handle it," she said, acting confident. And then, with her hand on his chest, she pushed him lightly down onto the mattress, but herself remained standing. "Now, please," she said gently, her eyes swimming with the upmost concern, "get some sleep."


	20. 3am

**Vonne:** That is it- the last chapter before I am finally done with posting up all these old chapters. After this, we are FINALLY caught up! I can almost hear the chorus of relieved sighs through my speakers. Thank you all for sticking with me, even though the majority of you have been caught up for a long time. It's so nice to get so much support and blah blah blah. :)

Chapter title taken from '2am' song by Anna Nalick. Only just changed the time by moving it ahead one hour. ;)

**Dreamm Weaver: **I am so happy to hear how excited you are to continue 'Basket Case'. All your excitement also gave me the motivation to hurry up and finish the next chapter- the chapter that no one has read yet and the chapter that we were supposed to be at a long time ago. I made it nice and long for everyone that has stuck with me and put up with all this nonsense. So, with that being said, I hope you enjoy this very last chapter until we are caught up!

**Lively McBrighten: **I do know how much you love this, and it makes me so happy! Thank you so much for all the motivation and the compliments. I am going to finish this story with such appreciation for all of you. You guys have definitely made writing worth while. It's so nice to hear from all of you so consistently. Thank you!

**McLanna: **I love that you love revisiting these chapters. At first I was worried that I would loose a whole bunch of reviewers that way, but I'm happy that there are some people out there that enjoy this as well.

**Carl: **You're absolutely right. And I like that way you've put it- "on the right track". Good use of words! :) I've been saying "caught up", but every time I type it, it doesn't sound right. I like yours. It fits better, definitely.

**Le Candeh: **Not too much longer, I promise! And I'm not really sure how long its been, but I'm certain its been a couple of weeks at the least. Actually, you could be right. Maybe it's even been about two months or so since this story has been 'on the right track'. Well, we're almost there... this chapter is IT. Then, I've got a nice, long chapter coming up for you! :)

**Voldyismyfather: **Thank you so much! I'm so glad that you've stuck with this, even with the delay. All your compliments really motivate me. I hope you enjoy revisiting this chapter, and I hope that you like the next NEW chapter, too. YAY! We've almost finally made it!

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen:**  
**3am**

Hermione Granger looked at the notes she had taken down at the palm of her hand, and then glanced up at the massive house that she stood in front of. Vibrant and beautiful, she was sure that this was the right place. She was surprised at how little time it had taken her to get there. Though, it was admittedly almost three in the morning and the majority of the city was, by all means, dead to the world. Traveling through the dark by herself, she had walked with a sort of determined stride in her step. Nothing was going to stop her, not even the emptiness of night.

She double checked, approaching the house with a slightly balled fist. The vines growing up the side of the white walls were lovely, the white roses at the front both sharp but undeniably riveting. Yes, she was certain she had come to the correct address. Pansy Parkinson- as curiously dangerous as her own home. Of course, her own spontaneousness had led her there in the first place. It was her conversation with Malfoy, however, that had really given her no choice. She'd made her decision the moment she had heard Malfoy's sleepy moans, the very second she was certain he'd passed on to unconsciousness, once again lost in his nightmares.

Draco had said it and, truthfully, he had been right. She, Hermione Granger, was on Pansy's bad side. Whatever it was that that meant, Hermione was certain that it was not good for Malfoy's current condition. What he needed was to focus, to make minimal all the stacked up stress that consumed his current life. He didn't need Pansy and her threats, didn't need Pansy and her drama. From the conversation, Hermione had known what she would have to do. And, afterward, she slipped from the door of her own bedroom, pulled out the book of addresses she had garnered from the Ministy, and found the one name she had been looking for from the very beginning: Pansy Parkinson.

Her address was right there. It was far more easy to locate her than Hermione had even initially anticipated. She'd scrawled the house number on the back of her hand, grabbed her coat and her wand, thus thrusting herself back on into the night with a most solid mission. And Hermione's stride led her to the door, her arms outstretched and ready to pound mercilessly on it. She inhaled, sucking in the chilly winter air, and did so, crashing her fist down on the surface of the massive thing like a bitter housewife. And then she waited. Pulling back, she analyzed the home and considered the woman who resided so vainly behind the very doors. Aside from the night before, she hadn't seen Pansy since their last year at Hogwarts. Her memory of the girl was, quite honestly, not a very fond one to begin with.

The door whisked open and the thin, yet curvaceous, shadow of Pansy stood in the flickering orange light that shone down on the front porch. She wasted no time. For a second, she looked at Hermione, took note of her sweaty face and her serious expression, and said flatly, "get off of my property."

Hermione's wand held out in front of Pansy's unimpressed chest, Hermione shook her head. She could feel the old hatred that she had once felt for Pansy rise up in her throat. "Not until you leave Draco alone." She gulped, instantly, realizing that her statement was, at best, what Ron would more likely call fairly 'ballsy'.

Instead, however, Pansy Parkinson took to taking her rather seriously. Her pale face reddened and she stared intensely at Hermione without even flinching."And why is that, Granger?" she asked testily, her almond eyes narrowing even more. She looked squinted, as if trying to study Hermione with everything she had possibly left in her. "Hm? Who the _fuck _are you to Draco, anyway?"

"A friend," Hermione quipped, thinking carefully before running her mouth. However, Pansy only raised her eyebrows.

"Oh," she said bitterly, "don't think that I can't see it. You're a girlfriend, Granger- yes, I see it." All the rage and jealousy looked vivid on her pretty little face. Behind her head of now tossed dark hair, she looked as if her eyes were about to light on fire. Caught up in the flames of her rage, she did not even try to mask her own disapproval. Hermione, on the other hand, knew that Pansy had more than likely had it with getting her feelings hurt. Of course, such a thing was something that Hermione could understand- however, not now. Draco and his current conditions were far too serious to worry about Pansy and whether or not she'd had her ego ripped to shreds. This was a life or death situation. This was far too serious. "You're one of few, too," Pansy said, tilting her head, "I'll give you that."

Hermione, glancing away from Pansy momentarily, said back, "I'm not keeping count, actually."

"Well I am," Pansy hissed. "You lot- Draco's lot- you think you're all special because you're dating the wealthy son of... of Lucius Malfoy. Well, I'll tell you something, Ms. Granger, alright? Stright from me to you." With her hand, she gestured to her chest and then poked it furiously back in Hermione's direction. "Draco's not the same person he used to be... and I learned that the hard way. You, on the other hand, you're like all the others. And, I'll tell you what- you and Malfoy," she scrunched up her nose, looking slightly wrinkled, "I only give you two a matter of weeks."

"I need you to stay away from Malfoy, Pansy," Hermione repeated, ignoring the deranged woman entirely.

Pansy tossed her head back. For a moment she looked fully amused, however, her joyful expression was instantly overtaken by that of sudden rage. The flashiness of her eyes flicked instantly in the lack of light and she bent her head down slightly to respond back with, "or what?"

And Hermione was not truly thinking when she plunged her hand into her coat pocket and whipped her slender wand from it. Instinctively, she placed it up to Pansy's lowered neck, raising her pointed chin upwards in a somewhat threatening motion. Pansy, despite her previously cocky demeanor, startled backwards, her eyes wide and horrorstruck for a brisk second. Her legs took her backwards, pacing back into her house and through the doorframe where Hermione anxiously followed. She did not let her wand down from Pansy's chin, lifting it so that the two could look directly into one another's eyes. And Pansy's scrunched up face made her look old, terrorized by Hermione and the possibility that she may in fact put an end to her life. Pansy breathed slowly. Her face heated and her own skinny fingers felt around her house in the darkness. Then, she found it. There, in the blackness, her wand atop the small wooden table.

In an instant she whisked hers upward, swatting away Hermione's outstretched arm with a fiercely bitter gesture. Her eyes flashed and her thin lips curled into a devilishly threatening smile. "Now what, Granger?" she smiled, toying around with Hermione. "What do you think you're doing, anyway? Coming into my house? Threaten me to stay away from Draco? If you think he cares about you, you're mistaken. Draco doesn't care about you."

"This isn't about me, or you, Pansy," Hermione breathed, a panic now growing inside her heavy chest. She could feel Pansy raising her own wand, forcing it sharply into the space just between the two of them. "It's about Draco and his sanity. For his own sake, you need to-"

Pansy looked furious. Scarlet marked her once snow white face. When she spoke, her hair lashed out around her visage, springing out in all different directions. "Don't you _dare_ tell me what this is about, Granger," she spat, her steady hand now shaking intensely.

"You're driving him insane, Pansy!"

"I'm driving him insane?" Pansy cried, thrusting herself even more forward. She was inches away from Hermione now, the two girls nose-to-nose. "_I'm_ driving him insane? He's driving himself insane! With his... his... stupid theories of regret and murder! And he thinks the majority of it was something he could have stopped!" So strong was Pansy's anger that she spoke only through her clenched teeth. She spat awfully at Hermione, stepping forward after every forced word. She demanded attention in the way she spoke, demanded it or threatened for something horrible. And she did not bother to wipe the sweat from her face or pull the flimsy hair from her eyes. Instead, she looked as if she intended to put an end to Hermione right there and then. Continuing, she hissed, "did he tell you that he thinks he killed Fred Weasley?" Hermione bit her lip. "Did he tell you that he thinks the same about Crabbe, too?"

Pansy's chest rose and fell. Her wild eyes were fearless. "He's lost his fucking mind. It wasn't me, Granger. Draco Malfoy... he's gone. Long gone. And all the proof you need is the fact that he's even the slightest bit interested in you!"

_"Stupefy!" _The shout came from Hermione, though she had not even realized that it had been sent from her. However, Pansy was far too quick. She'd noticed Hermione's climbing fist and, just as Hermione let her anger get the best of her, Pansy dodged the light flash within inches. The dark haired girl, however, stumbled to her feet, clamoring harshly into her own tiled floor in a desperate huff. Breathing, she reached back out for the wand she had lost in the process, finding it within seconds.

She staggered back up, watching Hermione in the middle of the entrance of her home. Her vision locked on Hermione Granger, staring her down viciously in her thick jacket, watching her furiously with that damn radio sticking out of her side pocket. Pansy's chest rose spastically and she knew that she had been lucky to escape Hermione's attack. However, a new feeling of immense hatred flooded her. She did not just loathe the girl. Instead, she felt something more... something more strong and powerful. More than anything, she wanted to tear Hermione from the face of the earth. Pansy panted, sucking in a heavy amount of air and shouting, _"sectumsempra!"_

Hermione flew backwards, staggering behind the wooden table and flopping over it in a huff. She missed Pansy's hex, and managed to position herself behind the table as a shield. Her and flew to her chest and the swell of rage died down. She cursed herself bitterly; she was supposed to be smart, and intelligent, and clever. She was supposed to know when to not let people like Pansy Parkinson get to her. But this time, this time was different. It was Draco Malfoy... Malfoy that seemed to fog her sense of better judgement.

And they say love makes you do stupid things...

She lifted her leg, kicking the side of the wall furiously. However, Pansy's climbing shadow had been now cast against it. Whether or not Hermione had meant to let herself get angry was irrelevant now. Hermione had one thing to worry about, and that was Pansy. "Come out from behind there!" Pansy roared, her arm stretched out in front of her. She breathed heavily, as if she'd just run miles. "Come out from behind there now. You want Draco out of his misery? Well, you're in luck... I can end it in two seconds. _Accio table!"_

_"Expelliarmus!"_

Pansy shoved Hermione's spell away, her slender hand looking only like another flash in the night. Though, she had been given even more luck. The table flew up from the grounds within seconds, as if caught up by a heavy wind. It was picked up from the tile rapidly and, by the flick of Pansy's wand, was sent crashing into the wall of her house. It hit the side, shattering into pieces and creating an array of hundreds of wooden splinters on the ground. The impact tore the wallpaper and revealed Hermione, curled up in a panic heap before her.

Hermione was beside herself. However her confrontation had gone so wrong, so fast was, quite frankly, a misstep. She gasped, noting her vulnerability, and scuttled from her spot desperately. But Pansy was gaining on her; in her effort to once and for all rid the world of Hermione, she lifted her wand and set in with yet another hex. However, Hermione was far too fast for her this time. She spun around, flicking her wrist in a ditch effort to save herself. _"Flipendo!" _Though, as it seemed, she came in luck.

The spell hit Pansy dead in the chest. Hastily, Pansy was knocked from her feet and sent flying. Her back hit the farthest wall with a harsh thud and Hermione scrammed from her spot on the floor in a hurry. "Bitch!" Pansy shouted, glancing down at her torn robe and the fresh cut that tainted her thin lips. She lifted her hand, wiping away the scarlet blood and spitting the rest in the corner beside her feet. Her eyes locked within Hermione's, who seemed to freeze at the ground.

Though, with great effort, she pulled herself up, reached for the wall, and whisked herself around the corner, deeper into Pansy's nice house. She stumbled along the elegant walls, feeling through the dark as a third spark of instant light flashed before her eyes. "I'll do it, you know!" Pansy was shouting, her high-pitched voice echoing throughout the entire house, "I'll put Draco out of his misery just like you asked, you fucking _whore!"_

Pansy's footsteps gained in on her and Hermione swung herself farther into the kitchen. She dove, panting behind the collection of beautiful white cabinets. But, to her horror, she could feel the radio slip from her jacket pocket. Her concern, however, was confirmed when she heard the clatter. The tiny toy slipped across the floor, skidding wildly on its way away from her. Hermione held her breath, her hands clamping over her panting mouth anxiously. The footsteps belonging to Pansy stopped and Hermione's heart sank; the dropped toy, it had undoubtedly given her way. Her sweaty face was both wet and twisted. Breathing, she reached a shaky hand across her front, wiping herself clean and pressing her throbbing head backwards. "Shit," she whispered to herself, still all the more furious. "Shit, shit."

"Get back here!" Pansy continued, sounding like a ghost in the night, "get back here, Granger... I'm not through with you!"

The shadows in the night stretched on. Pansy's dark outline swept up against the walls dauntingly. She could hear the clip-clop of her feet as they entered the kitchen, could even see the tips of her manicured fingers as they gripped the end of her pencil-thin wand. "_Lumos,"_ the glamorous woman hissed, sending the tip of her weapon to light up in the blackness. "I know you're in here, Granger."

Hermione felt her stomach ache and her guts churn. Inside, a family of anxious butterflies miserably tortured her. It was now or never. Pansy would find her behind the furniture, would surely kill her if she had the chance. So she braced herself, braced her body and her heart. This wasn't for her and it wasn't even for Pansy. This was for Draco, for someone that Hermione know could not envision a life without. She listened to Pansy's feet stumble across the tile, saw the glistening fabric of her nice green night robe. Then, preparing herself, she gripped the counter top, wincing slightly at the chilliness of the marble.

But Pansy could sense the movement, could even feel her just by the shift of light in the large kitchen room. Once again she lifted her wand, her sweaty face sparkling in the room. She wasted no time, shouting again, "_sectumsempra!"_

_"Expelliarmus!"_

The bright light from Pansy's wand missed Hermione by centimeters. However, Hermione came in much more luck. Striking fast, Hermione's spell hit Pansy curtly, and her wand was knocked from her grasp briskly. The thin clattered far behind her in the room, hitting the tiled floor and making a slightly pathetic thudding sound through the far off hallways. Her eyes widened. Like a trapped animal, she looked all the more panicked. She had lost her previously confident demeanor and now only hoped for a way out.

She cocked her head backwards, allowing the blood to drip freely from her chapped lips. "What are you going to do now, huh?" she snapped, slumping her shoulders down low in a heap of defeat. "Are you going to murder me?"

Hermione's mouth only fell open, more trapped than ever before. She had come here for a reason, but now she realized her serious Pansy was about Draco, as well. And perhaps the girl would never stop... perhaps now, more than ever, Pansy would want to run to the Ministry and reveal to them the truth about Hermione and Draco. The thought of having only made matters worse sent a miserable chill running through Hermione's entire being. She wanted to break down in tears, wanted to run from the elegant house and not look back.

But Pansy, on the other hand, was not about to give up. She blinked out sweat from her eyes, the pair bloodshot and stinging. Her hands flickered up towards her face, harshly swiping her locks away from her sticky front. "Huh?" Pansy yelled, still vicious, "tell me, Granger! What are you going to do?"

Something fuzzy sounded off in the beautiful kitchen room, but only Hermione flicked. It was nothing more than a static noise, something like a bee or an injured insect. Double-taking, Hermione blinked around in the room, her sweat reaching the collar of her shirt. "_Hermione?" _said something broken and almost completely inaudible on the other end. "_'Mione?"_

The toy emitted a voice that Hermione instantly recognized, "_'Mione, please... please pick up!"_

"Answer me!" Pansy stomped her feet on the ground, glancing at the radio for only a second before returning back to her original fury. "Look at me!"

But Hermione could not. She could only focus on the black and square object. And the voice... the voice on the other end was just as desperate and panicked and horrified. _"Hermione? Hermione, are you there?"_

Hermione's voice was hoarse and croaky. Inching near it, she bent downwards inquisitively, "Ron?"

"Oh, thank God. Harry... Harry!"

For a second, Hermione glanced back at Pansy. In her silk robe, the woman looked as if she were really only just a threat to herself. Wild and bitter, she was weaponless and unarmed. Hermione found the time to get away, grateful in her luck at the moment. Then, desperately, she slid forward, diving towards the black radio with sweaty fingers. Pansy jumped, fearful at Hermione's sudden movement, however, she was less jittery once she'd noticed Hermione had only jumped towards the radio. Her eyes blinked back open, whisking her shaking hand away from her chest. She squinted back at Hermione in the dark, watching the girl pick up the radio and hold it to her mouth. "Ron," Hermione was hoarsely choking, her anxiety doubling. She was no longer focused on Pansy, no longer focused on their fight, or the threat of danger.

"Hermione!" A deeper voice hissed back into the radio. This voice was much more calm, despite the obvious desperation that flooded behind it.

"Harry!" Hermione croaked.

"Harry!" Pansy blinked, turning to the radio with a new pair of harshly narrowed eyes. "_Harry Potter?"_

Hermione was livid. She ignored Pansy, ignored her quivering hands as they grabbed back at the radio. "Harry," she panted, "Harry what's going on?"

And the voice back was broken. It did not respond back within the instant. However, something else horrible called out through the background. Hermione was certain she had heard a scream- loud, horrified screaming that was choked and broken. The screams, as intense and painful as they were, were mixed with tears and cries. And it sounded as if the person that they belonged to was suffering, dying perhaps. "Hold him down," someone cried out in the background. It was Harry, who seemed to have turned away from the radio to shout something at Ron, "keep him steady... he'll hit his head!"

Hermione shoved her hair out of her face. Her voice was broken, unable to stay even slightly steady. "Harry!" she called, anxious and fearful, "Harry... what's going on?"

"Malfoy!" Came Harry's voice over the buzz from behind him, "It's Malfoy... Hermione... something's w-wrong. Something's going on! W-Where are you?"

"What?" Hermione felt her head rush. She had forgotten all about Pansy in the corner, had even forgotten all about Pansy's wand that still lay around someplace. "What's wrong with Draco?" Harry gasped, turning away from the radio and shouting something to Ron that Hermione could not quite make out. She pulled the radio towards her mouth even tighter, gripping the circumference of the radio aggressively. "Harry! Harry, please!"

Harry's tone came back in parts, much like a broken record. "please, you... need... to... get... back... here. P-Please! Oy, Ron, hold his head up!"

Pansy's shoulders fell. In the dark, she slipped back towards the radio and even closer towards Hermione. She was still panting, still desperately breathing. However, something had fallen out from her attitude. She seemed to have softened from her furiousness and instead, slumped into a worry. "What's going on?" she yelled, forgetting about her discarded wand, as well. "Hey!" she called, begging for Hermione's attention, begging for an answer. She was bleeding from her lips, ignoring the mess of black hair that hung in her face. "What's wrong with Draco?" she yelped.

There was a yell and then, instantly, the radio shut off. Gone were the screams and cries and panics. Gone was the choking noises that belonged to the man that Hermione had loved. They'd left her in the dark, the bitter and painful dark of the blackened night. "Harry!" Hermione tried, tears now forming anxiously in her eyes, "Harry!" But no answer came back. Alone, she pulled herself up form the ground, leaving Pansy behind her in a newly frazzled heap. The dark brunette's hair was aggressively around her head, and she looked as if she were about to break down into a fit of tears.

Her red face twisted. "Where are you going?" she cried, turning back to Hermione as she stumbled up into a stance. However, Hermione did not answer. Instead, she lunged back into the darkness of the house, back into the hallways, with her panting breath the new echo in the corridors. "What's wrong with him?" Pansy yelled, and yet garnered no answer. "What's wrong with him?"

But Hermione was already long gone. She'd darted out back through the kitchen, stumbling over her own feet. She'd dodged the upturned furniture that both she and Pansy had ruined in their aggressive fight beforehand. She pulled open the front door and whisked out into the night, once again consumed by the bitterness of it.

And through the rushing wind, over the chirp of evening crickets, she could still hear the screams. She was certain they'd forever haunt her.


	21. What a Curious World

**Vonne:** I am happy to say that we've finally made it! We are all caught up! This is a brand new chapter, that no one has ever read before, and I'm so excited to hear your thoughts, comments, or questions once you've finally finished it. As a side note, I wanted to make it good and long so that the wait truly felt as if it were worth it. I hope that you all enjoy what you read, because I've literally only just finished it days ago after working so hard to make it flow. Finally, "Basket Case" can resume where it left off- no more stupid mistakes by me. No more accidentally deleting my stories and having to start all the way from the beginning, twenty chapters earlier. So, next chapter will come once I get ten reviews! I appreciate all sorts of feedback- the good, the bad, and the ugly. Thank you all for sticking with me and "Basket Case" in the meantime. I cannot thank you enough.

I have to skip responses this time around, seeing as I'm rushing out the door, but I wanted to get this to you ASAP. I will respond to every single one of you next chapter, promise.

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**Chapter Twenty:**  
**What a Curious World**

Draco Malfoy could not feel his heartbeat.

He could not feel his chest rise, or the breath that shook out from inside of his lungs. His memory, though blurred, recalled the moments before whatever was happening to him had even started. But what he could remember was the spinning bedroom, hearing his own thundering head ache behind his temples, and the high-pitched laughter of Lord Voldemort. Thus, understandably spooked, he had lept from the place he was sleeping at in the instant, scanning the room with wild eyes. In the mirror, he had just about made out the rotten figure of the madman himself. There, poised perfectly at the shinning looking glass, the man previously known as Tom Riddle steadily shook his head before vanishing once again into thin air.

Wildly, his eyes scanned the bedroom of Hermione Granger, hoping to spot her thin-framed figure under the sheets in the darkness. "Hermione?" he'd tried, groping against the wall for support. He felt the sway of nausea that captivated his lower torso and hugged himself compassionately. As the blond hair touched his clammy forehead, he could feel the traces of sweat drool down his pallor expression. But the absence of an answer only clarified his fear of solitude and, staggering, he had felt up against the bedroom walls as he glided across the floorboards.

Then his eyes found the door of the room and he continued in his disgraceful stumble. The view behind his soggy eyesight led him there in a wobble, but he found the knob and broke through the threshold. Was this incomprehensible onset of illness only becoming a regular to him? If so, he would have a hard time getting used to it. A lifetime of anxiety and metal woe was one he could barely fathom, and yet such a future seemed almost rather inevitable to him. The pestering thought of being a consistent bother to Hermione crushed him, and as he led himself through the hallway, he tried not to think of forever bothering her with his unexplained issue. He did not want her taking care of him every waking moment, couldn't dream of causing her to suffer simply for the sake of his own well being.

Still, he fumbled through the corridor and decided that his head was never going to stop whispering things to him, decided that he couldn't ever wish upon Hermione a life of suffering and worry. He could handle himself, could get used to his faltering mental health. But Hermione, she didn't deserve such an existence. And though, while in the midst of his petrified thoughts, each footstep forward seemed to linger, each stride a task. He slumped down by the kitchen table, missed the edge of the island, and collided his back up against the small ledge. He cocked his legs out in two different directions and breathed out.

How long had it been? How long had it been since he had seen Hermione in good spirits? How long had it been since he had talked to Goyle, his best friend; or Pansy, someone he'd thought he'd known once. He didn't know- didn't have even the slightest idea. Hazy, he glanced up towards the clock on the wall and watched the numbers blend together before his lidded eyes. A long trail of spit slipped out from the opening in his lips and he realized that, all things considered, time didn't really matter. What he knew was that he didn't have much of it left anyway. For Draco Malfoy, time was now nonexistent. He was loosing himself fast enough. He couldn't even hear himself think. What a curious world he was in then, so dazed, so arguably nonexistent.

But he must have moaned or sobbed, for something thudded loudly in the room opposite him and Draco's eyes remained locked into the hands of the clock. Then the door to the nearest bedroom pulled itself open and Ron Weasley, with his wand out in front of him, stepped into the darkness. It had taken him a short while to even spot Draco's shadow in the darkness, but he slipped through the shadows in his striped pajamas just in time to catch the hazy thing at the island.

Ron knelt low, his mouth open slightly. His own blue eyes scanned Draco and he lowered his stern hand. "Malfoy?" Ron asked, pressing his face further. Draco's eyes only whirred around, glancing back at Ron with an oddly blank gaze. He lifted his head and then gently slammed it back before squeezing his eyes shut and leaning forward to once again hug his stomach. "Oi! Can you hear me?"

Yet Draco's lolling head gave way and, pale, he only lifted his palms to swipe away at the tears that freshly fell down his face. He cursed himself mentally, still all too aware that he was now sobbing in front of Ron. Though the burning intensity in the pit of his chest twisted inside of him mercilessly and he couldn't have even stopped them if he tried. Instead, he used his dual palms to cover his face completely, before trying uselessly to block out the overwhelming sound of Voldemort's laughter in his head.

Whatever the redhead was yelling at him had blended. The words, though hurried and anxious, sounded rather intoxicated and slurred. Through the foggy vision that clouded his eyesight, Draco thought he'd heard Ron ask seriously, "have you gotten into the liquor?"

Aching, he shook his head. "Where's Hermione?" he added, glancing back towards the open door of the girl's bedroom. And on Ron's thin lips, Draco could make out the name of the girl he missed- of the girl he was almost certain he'd loved. Hermione Jean Granger, the girl who deserved far more than Draco Malfoy even had to offer. He watched Ron murmur the syllables of her name and he felt the sinking feeling of misery in his plummetting chest. "Where's Hermione?" Ron asked again.

Draco's face sunk. Despite his own pain, he found that he was far more worried about her and her safety. He opened his mouth to respond, yet only managed to cough. Yet, despite spitting saliva, flecks of crimson blood flew from his mouth and painted the front of Draco's sleep shirt. For a moment, both the boys glanced down at Malfoy's heaving chest wearily befre Ron, hastily, fumbled backwards. Despite stammering uneasily, he dropped himself back and sort of crab-scuttled away from Malfoy. "H-Hold on," Ron's voice said over the mental giggling in Malfoy's mind, "d-don't m-move... Harry! Harry!"

He'd stood up from the ground and vanished from Malfoy's side within the instant. Then, without knocking, he leaned back towards the door and swung it open. "Something's wrong!" he shouted, and Malfoy could just about make out his yelping. Though, much to Ron's visible appreciation, Harry rushed through the doorframe without much of a waste. He glanced around, shouted about Hermione with concern, and the spotted Draco at the end of the hallway.

He analyzed the boy's slumped posture and the red blood that had doubled out from the depths of his throat. Malfoy had moved his hands away from his face and, horrified, was glancing down at his open palms. The blood pooled at his hands and seeped through the fabric of his pajamas. Even at a distance, Harry could hear Malfoy's own croaking sob as he glanced around and watched the trail from his lips helplessly. In his distance from the two men, Draco could hear the mumbles of what he was certain Ron asking, "what should we do?"

Harry's green eyes flashed. He looked tired and concerned in the night, but quickly he found the little black radio discarded in the corner. Simply, he cocked his chin towards it and, within the instant, Ron darted anxiously towards it. However, the redhead only stared at the tiny toy thing as if it had set on fire in front of him. His eyebrows raised, he lowered his voice with slight embarrassment. He paused for a split second, flipping the thing over in his pale, freckled fingers. Despite Draco's drooling and fading consciousness on the floor behind him, he leaned in closer towards Harry and gestured towards the air with the antenna of the toy. "...h-how d-do you use one of these again?"

But Draco could still hear him over his thundering headache and, sniffling, he limply pointed to the button at the side of the handheld. Both Ron and Harry glanced back at Draco with horrified expressions, but then leaned back into the radio in a slightly more rushed manner. "'Mione?" Ron both yelled and whispered at the same time. Even Malfoy could sense the urgency in his voice, and the terrified tone he took managed to scare him. Malfoy's chest heaved and he coughed up an excessive amount of blood back down the front of his white shirt. "'Mione," Ron yelped, backing away suddenly, "please... pick up!"

Still, there was something oddly curious about Malfoy and, though he did not seem to want to remain sitting, he managed to reach upwards and grope the edge of the marble island. His wobbly knees locked together and, with a miserable moan, he flopped his wet forehead against the surface of it before running his quivering hands through the back of his knotted hair. "Oi!" Ron shouted, releasing his finger off of the button and glancing back towards Harry for help. "W-What a-are you d-doing?"

Draco's head pounded mercilessly. The thundering of his heavy heart struck the walls of his chest and, even with his head pressed against the cold island top, his vision was nothing but a largely massive blur. Ron's voice broke through to him, though slightly hazy. Yet, to signify that he'd heard him, Malfoy lifted up his hand, waving uselessly before letting it flop back down back onto the opposite side of his sweaty neck. Somewhere in the midst of Malfoy's delirium, he could hear yet another oncoming set of Voldemort's high pitched chuckling.

"Dammit," he mumbled to himself, slipping his palms over his ears and squeezing forcefully.

The clatter in the background blended in with the laughs and the pounding and the thunder. He could hear the static of the radio and Ron as he busily protested Draco's every move. Though, despite holding his ears shut with the cup of his palms, Draco could even hear Ron as he stumbled closer. The frightened man held out his arm, despite still clutching the radio, and called out spastically, "sit down, M-Malfoy!"

To which Malfoy sadly responded, "bugger off, Weasley," before curling dramatically back into himself.

Ron twitched. However, despite being only fractionally offended, he made no attempt to respond back to the blond. Instead, he turned back towards the radio, glaring at the speakers as if he could make Hermione's voice appear to him by will. "Hermione?" he tried, desperately, "Hermione, are you there?"

_"Ron?"_

The Weasley's chest fell and he gripped the radio readily with both hands. Behind him he found Harry in his pajamas. "Oh, thank God." Breathing, Ron looked away from Draco and used his free hand to wipe the trickling sweat from off of his face. However, Malfoy's own hand released his ears. He ignored the laughter in his head and blinked through the fog that overtook his vision. Thus, his eyes set out towards the floorboards and a new onset of determination took over. Though despite the drunken sway that had taken over his step, he only managed about three steps outwards before colliding back to the ground again. Ron almost dropped the radio from between his fingers. Horrified, he turned around desperately, "Harry," he choked out loud, "Harry!" But Harry was not far behind Ron and, urgent, he staggered back toward Draco with his hair wild across his own forehead.

_"Harry!"_ from the depths of the radio speakers, Hermione's own yelp sounded out anxiously, followed by the echoed phrase of someone unfamiliar. But the men looked over the extra voice in the background of Hermione and squatted down towards the ground, focused on the crumbled figure on the floor. "Harry, what's going on?"

And then something behind Malfoy's outline snapped. Gagging, he coughed horribly and felt numb as the vision of his gray eyes rolled back into his fuzzy head. The kitchen grew dark and the lights around them flicked like a switch. Something shuffled around him and, despite being crowded by both Harry and Ron, Draco could see the image of Voldemort step out from the newfound blackness. The bare and rotting foot of the dead man strode forward on a slow pace. His slender boney fingers gripped his wand threateningly and his mouth was curled up into a devious grin. There was something about the man that suggested, while he appeared dead as a doornail, that he was very much alive. And thus, despite being nothing more than a hallucination, Malfoy had the intensely honest fear that he was about to die.

When he felt his chest heave upwards, almost everything vanished from his sight. A hard pounding overtook his head and his body thrashed up unwillingly. Ron cried out, crawling backwards. Harry, however, lunged back towards Malfoy, plunging his hands underneath Malfoy's head and lifting his from the ground. "Hold him down!" Harry breathed through clenched teeth, causing Ron to inch back forward and force his hands down on Draco's chest. "Keep his steady!" he commanded, "he'll hit his head!"

_"Harry! Harry... what's going on?"_ In Ron's spare hand, the radio boomed with Hermione's shaky voice.

Harry's hands brought Malfoy's head up to his chest and he pushed the hair out of his newly white eyes with a clammy, flat palm. "Malfoy!" Harry sputtered, refusing to look up from Draco, whose face was both drenched in sweat and spit. "It's Malfoy... Hermione... something's w-wrong. Something's going on! W-Where are you?"

_"What? What's wrong with Draco? Harry, please..." _Even through the speakers of the small toy, Harry could sense the intensity behind Hermione's voice. He heard the shuffle of her feet, as if she'd been crotched on the floor, and the topple of something fumble away from a higher surface.

Harry's hands slipped away from Malfoy's head and he made a swift grab for the radio in Ron's hands. "Please," he said sincerely, "you need to get back here!" Malfoy emitted a soft moan and looked as if he were about to come up from his previous unconsciousness. A light flick of hope rose up in Harry's anxious chest, but he leaned back towards the toy carefully. "P-Please. Oi, Ron, hold his head up!"

A burst of static cut through the speakers and Harry twisted away the power once he spotted Draco's eyes flicker back open. Forcefully, he pushed aside the radio and let out a long, relieved breath. Though despite the new calm that Draco had taken up, the expression on his miserable face marked him as ill and otherwise almost completely unresponsive. Nonetheless, however, his eyes swirled around and, tearful, he glanced up at the ceiling as if he himself couldn't quite fathom his consciousness.

Ron's hands gripped the back of Draco's neck, despite the chill that tainted it. He slipped momentarily, before regaining his composure on the man. Though Harry had discarded the toy radio, Ron's eyes were only focused on the twitching blond. He trembled, on his own for a moment, and his wide eyes watched the front door. Couldn't Hermione run any faster? Wherever she'd gone off to, it was definitely not the time for being stir crazy. He regretted not staying awake, regretted letting Draco Malfoy sleep in his house in the first place. And yet, that pestering feeling of pity twisted around his inner gut ruthlessly, and he couldn't deny it. Every desperate wheeze that emitted from Malfoy's dry throat truly did make his chest fall with his own selfless terror.

"Where is she?" Ron croaked as Draco's eyes rolled back into his pale head and his face lolled responsively to the side. His torso had reduced to a freezing temperature and with each seizure-like twitch, Ron's grip seemed to tighten. Ron neared closer to Draco's paper-white face and couldn't even believe it himself when he pushed the boy's sweaty mop away from his greasy forehead. "S-Something's... wrong," he said again, hoarsely, "something's n-not right."

Harry's shoulders dropped. He stopped his pacing quickly. For a moment, his green eyes rest upon Malfoy and then, without warning, he dropped deeper in to his knees, taking up a significantly fast-paced crawl. His face, etched with curiosity, twisted with concern and inquiry as he made his way towards both Ron and Malfoy, his right hand outstretched. "Draco," he whispered in a strong and audible voice. The boy's eyes swiveled around and he glanced up at Harry, much to Ron's surprise, despite the obvious wetness he had to his face. Tears streamed down Malfoy's reddened cheeks and the front of his nose was red and outlandish. "Malfoy," Harry asked, far more familiar with Malfoy's situation than Ron had perhaps even knew, "c-can you hear me?"

"I don't want to die," Malfoy wheezed, his eyes whirling around in desperation. He seemed to have trouble staying away, and yet tried to hold on to his consciousness despite the difficulty. "P-Please," he begged, attempting to lift himself up before only just flopping back down into Ron's chest heavily, "p-p-please d-don't let me die!"

"You're not going to die, Malfoy!" Harry assured him, scooting Draco farther away from Ron. Yelping, Malfoy felt a harsh twinge as he was lifted away and set back down gently on the floor below him. His head whirled and his vision had begun to blur in a far more intoxicating way. Above him, both Harry and Ron were undefined. He could make out only the red hair and the slight shimmer behind Harry's tilted glasses. "Just... listen to me," Harry advised, glancing towards the front door once more. "Don't try to fight whatever you're trying to fight." He glanced back over towards Ron, biting his lip for a moment.

The strangeness in witnessing Draco go through the same thing he, Harry, had gone through several years ago only made him slightly uncomfortable. Seeing the spasms, seeing the terror sketched on Malfoy's face and knowing that, at one point or another, Harry had worn the exact same expression, it sent a wave of chills down his hunched spine. Still, Harry pressed down farther, lowering his voice slightly. "Just give in to it."

And so Draco Malfoy, breathing lightly, feeling faint, finally gave in. Anxious and sweaty, he directed his eyes one last time up at Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived; the Boy who had, by all means, ruined his entire life. Then, he felt the sway of something heavy pass him by. Darkness crept towards him like a shadow. A shock of unexpected electricity ran through him and, shaky, he felt his eyes roll back as the shadow of the Dark Lord approached him steadily, without a single flicker.

"All your suffering," wheezed the dead man, holding out his arms as if he were perhaps a friendly being, "is only just a mild stepping stone in the way of the final plan."

Malfoy's chest gave out and his heart flapped wildly against his rising sternum. He could see the images of his mother, dressed in all white, standing at the edge of her bedroom by the window. It was a memory he only had just recalled, though now he could see it all so clearly. As she stood, she fiddled with the end of her milky blonde hair, a nervous and perplexed expression drawn across her beautiful visage. From her barely parted lips, she called to her husband and Malfoy, who was hiding with his back against the wall outside the room, held his quivering breath. "Lucius."

His father stepped out from behind the wall separating the individual areas of their bedroom. A massive and unsightly black eye covered the entire right side of his previously untainted face. Draco gasped, clasping a hand over his mouth to hide the noise. He had never before seen the awful injury, though the thing looked as if it has been there for months. Still, Lucius Malfoy was dabbing at it, a wet washcloth in his large hand, and a grimace marked on his sad front. He didn't say a word to his concerned wife. He didn't have to.

"This is all really going to happen, isn't it?"

"Yes," confirmed Lucius, who had perhaps grown softer over the years that had worn him out. He no longer walked around the house with the same amount of pride as he had done before. He no longer seemed so concerned about his money at Gringots. Instead, his sole focus has consistently seemed to rest on Narcissa and Draco. And, overwhelmingly, he watched over the two like a overbearing hawk. Nonetheless, he did not waste anytime in lying to his wife. There, as he neared her slowly, he slid down on the cushioned windowsill and stared out dizzily.

Narcissa slipped her chin upon Lucuis' broad shoulder and then brought her stick-like hands forwards across his chest. "What shall we tell Draco?" she whispered inquisitively, and ever from his spot outside of the room, Draco could hear the breaking in her otherwise strong voice.

Lucius remained silent. His eyes did not move from the outside world and he seemed to look off out past the fountain in the backyard, and out past the woods father beyond it. "The truth," he said finally, after a long time of considering it. "He deserves to know the truth."

The scene flashed away from him like the lens of a camera and he could even feel it rip out from the center of his chest. Then a new image took ahold of him and he found that he saw himself now in the stone corridor of Hogwarts. Lights and explosions took their cue all around him and, hazy, he could not even see straight. He felt the burning sensation in his side as if it were real- the same horrific pain that had plagued him the very night of the war. Thus, he watched himself bend down and cradle his side, moaning miserably. An ample amount of oozing blood slipped out from the depths of his blond head, matting together his hair disgustingly. He coughed, spat up a scarlet puddle and found that two meaty hands had clamped him hard across the chest.

"Draco!" coughed the figure, covered in soot and ash. It was Goyle, just as Malfoy had remembered. The boy looked like a wreck, clearly mimicking the state that Draco was in himself. "Draco! We... w-we've g-got t-to f-find C-Crabbe!" His fingernails ground into Malfoy's slumped shoulders and, forcefully, he shook him to get his attention. "Draco! _L-Listen_ t-to m-me!" Goyle's voice was broken, coming to Malfoy in sputtered fractions as he tried to catch his breath. He panted, allowing great masses of sweat to drip off of him continuously. However, his large eyes were locked into Malfoy's half-closed ones and he gripped him tightly in fear that Draco was going to lose his consciousness. "We c-can't l-l-let him... _die!_"

The memory snapped itself away from Malfoy within the instant, revealing to him a new scene. The memory, however, was only moments following the second and he found that he was watching himself and Goyle run down the hallway together. They dodged the sight of green and red lights, stumbled horrified over the sight of dead bodies, strung throughout the grounds of their childhood school. Then in the distance, they spotted him. Vincent Crabbe's shadow was cast upon the heavy walls and, in his fingers, he had upheld the figure of a writhing boy. "Tell me, _now!"_ hissed Crabbe, who did not notice Goyle and Draco in the distance, rushing forwards closer towards him. "_TELL ME!"_

"I-I-I d-don't k-know," coughed the figure, whose face light up slightly as the flashes around him caught hold of his exterior. His curly blond hair was covered in dirt and his lips were swollen with blood. His friendly eyes flashed with terror and his thin little hands grabbed up in an attempt to pry himself away from Crabbe's heavy grasp. "I p-p-promise!" he squealed in the middle of his sobs. "I d-don't k-know w-where h-h-he w-went!"

It was quite obvious that the boy's statement had been a lie. The way his scared little eyes scanned the debris was all telling. However, Draco was certain that he had recognized the voice of the petrified figure before. Small and struggling, he could barely make out the figure of Colin Creevey before Crabbe shouted out, "Liar!" Then he released the squirming Colin, who hit the floor with a sudden thud. Colin did not waste any time, however. The moment he felt the ground, he scrambled upwards, emitting a loud and echoing sob, before scuttling upwards and darting out against the long hallway. Still, Crabbe had not finished. He raised his arm and the tip of his wand locked in with the clear outline of the boy within minutes. He breathed in, ready for the kill, and shouted, "_Avada Kedavra!" _

The flash of light hit the boy directly, sending his weak figure to the stone ground with an unearthly smack. The outstanding echo of his final sob bounced off of the walls and collided within Draco's ears like a set off bomb. And he found he couldn't run anymore. Delirious, he stopped dead in his tracks, only slightly hearing Goyle as he shouted, "NO!"

There was a flash of bright white light and, for a minute, Malfoy thought he himself had died. He could, however, hear the screams of Ron Weasley just out from beside him, and the slam of a harsh wooden door. A clamoring of footsteps rang in his ears and then, heavy, hot breath melted onto his ice cold face. "Draco?"

He recognized the voice: Hermione Jean Granger. The soft and vital sound of it managed to pull him away from the dark memories. Through the blurs of his teary vision, he saw her knelt there. She was covered in sweat and her chest panted with his, as if she has run very, very far. Her hand was warm, however, and he felt it cradle his cheek as she ignored the falling locks of messy brunette hair that fell in front of her. "Draco..."

She said with a sore and shaky sob, "Draco, I'm s-s-so sorry..."

Sorry for what? Malfoy wanted to tell her that, whatever it was, he forgave her. He opened his mouth, but only managed to emit a loud yelp that made Hermione flinch. He couldn't move his hand to touch her trembling fingers, couldn't move a single muscle. Every limb in his body ached and he felt pain like he had never felt in his entire adult life. Yet still, Voldemort stood over Hemione, as well. His face was calm and he wore a blank expression, as if only an onlooker. His long fingers fiddled with the circumference of his twig-like wand. Cautiously, he twirled it, and his eyes looked down upon Draco with an expression of sadistic curiousity.

And Malfoy could feel anything and everything. He could feel the stabbing pain that pierced him like a knife in his side, could feel the twist of his stomach as it clenched up tightly like a fist. Something in his head made him feel fuzzy and dumb, as if he'd fallen or even died. The roof of his mouth was dry and the burning sensation of a heart burn staggered within him mercilessly. He couldn't move his arms, and he couldn't move his legs. He felt both hot and cold, dead and alive. The better half of his insane mind told him that he was going to die, while the crazy parts told him to try and stick it out. For Hermione. For the girl above him shaking her head and repeating over and over and over... she was just so, so, sorry.

"Draco... p-please..." she whispered, but the sound of her voice only came to him in fractions as he felt himself wave in and out of consciousness. "Please..."

He wanted to reach out, to tell her not to cry. Seeing her sad did not help the pain, seeing her sad only tripled it. He could feel the tear of his beating heart ripping apart, and he hated himself for causing her all this pain. He told himself deliriously that she didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve it. She didn't-

But then Malfoy's eyes searched the small building. He could hear Ron almost clearly now, breathing rapidly; and Hermione was right there in front of him. Her hand cradled his face, her eyes spilling over with a flood-like onset of mournful tears. But where was Harry Potter? Draco was certain he'd seen him a moment ago, but his absence made his head ache and his heart pound with worry. His tearful vision found the front door, open and revealing to him the outside night. Footsteps overtook his head, and they came pounding towards him like a feverishly dropping storm.

"I-I'm s-so sorry, Draco..."

A cluster of dark shadows filled his inadequate vision. They flooded into the house with their wands outstretched, looking serious and orderly. They wore the uniforms of the Ministry and their eyes searched the home's interior rapidly. And then, through the darkness, Harry Potter strode into vision again. He was sweating from head to toe, dripping it carelessly on the floorboards below him. "T-There!" Harry croaked, pointing out a shaky hand in front of himself, "h-he's there, just _please-"_

The uniformed Ministry men shoved Harry aside and, with their large hands, they moved Hermione away from him. Draco could feel the absence of her warmth immediately, and his body shook with uncertainty. They seized him without haste, grabbing at his shoulders and his waist, and arching him upwards fiercely. He coughed as they lifted him up, sputtering blood down the front of the men's slick uniforms and dully down the front of his pale chin. He saw the room as a blur, one big heavily clouded image that taunted him as he felt the room spinning. Through his haziness, he saw the kitchen and his discarded coat and Ron and Harry in the background. He even caught sight of their faces, terrified as Hermione reeled herself forward, screaming, "what's going to happen to him?"

In the background, Voldemort's slim mouth curled up into a satisfied smile. He placed his wand down and looked pristine as his former follower was whirled around blindly. Malfoy's head stung and, still coughing, he was hoisted up further, positioned against two of the men. They lifted him with rushed motivation, hoisting him from the ground completely and carrying him so that his head was pressed up against one of their thick chests. His legs dangled below the men's arms at the knees, and he could feel his left shoe slipping from his very foot.

Hermione lunged forward, making a grasp towards Malfoy's hand. He could see her barely as she did so, and felt a burst of anger rise in his chest when she was held back by the men. However, he couldn't move, couldn't even flinch. Despite the persisting urge to scream out, "don't touch her!" he found that his entire body felt as if it were melting. But Harry had taken the initiative. He made a swift grab for the man, yelling between clenched teeth, "what's going on?"

The free handed man spoke clearly and swiftly. He said, "according to reports confiscated from the office of Ms. Elaine Galler, Draco Malfoy has been suffering from paranoid schizophrenia." He paused, barely to check on the boy, who had begun muttering oddly to himself. His bloody lips trembled and his eyes flicked back and forth, sliding back into his head at inconsistent fractions. "He has tried to kill himself-"

"So!" roared Hermione, furious. She clawed her way out from behind Harry, her face red and wet. "So! There's many p-people living out in the world with f-far worse diseases." Then, referring to the man's mention of Draco's suicide, she cried, "and people try to off themselves... on... o-on a d-daily basis..."

But the man paid no attention to Hermione's protest. They had not remove Draco from the room, however, and the other men crowded him with their wands outstretched. They looked baffled at the blood that drooled from the opening of his mouth, and stared curiously at the dark bruises at the front of his face. "He's a harm to himself... as well as to the people around him."

"A _harm_?" Hermione looked as if she couldn't contain herself anymore. This was all happening far too fast. He was supposed to be safe with her, safe in her house, where no one could take him. He ws supposed to be fixed and she... she had promised to fix him. "He hasn't laid a hand on-"

"We've just received word that he's attacked some men in the alleyway behind a nearby pub. Was reported only a few days ago..."

"What?" Hermione cried, outraged. Certainly she had not heard about any problems with Draco in an alleyway, though she'd guessed it had happened far too long ago. "Whoever they are," she insisted with a yelp, "they're lying!"

But the man's face softened. He stared down at Hermione Granger and whatever look of professionalism seemed to slightly melt away. He knew who she was, knew that she had helped save the Wizarding World. And he felt sympathy. Thus, he relaxed his face, glancing for the final time back at Draco Malfoy. "I'm sorry, miss," he said delicately. "I'm just following orders..."

Then, with that, he turned away from Hermione and Harry, back towards Draco and the other clustered men. But Malfoy had stopped panting. By all means, it looked as if he had simply stopped breathing altogether. His eyes had defeated him, having rolled back completely into his head. The blood from his mouth had become more diluted now, mixed with the clear and watery liquid of the boy's own saliva. His limp arms dangled above the ground, swaying in unison with his legs that looked broken and crooked in the strongest Ministry man's arms. He'd stopped coughing, stopped sputtering, stopped mumbling. He didn't move, didn't twitch. Instead, he just lay there, lifeless; a pathetic and unconscious bloody wreck, with all the cuts, scrapes, and bruises to show for it.

Hermione saw the men as they huddled together, ready to apparate, and for the final time she lunged past Harry, stumbling over her own two feet in the process. Her eyes caught them as they drew even closer and she held out her arms threateningly, screaming, "stop!" But she was far too late. The men had regained themselves, group together tightly so that she could only see Draco through the divisions of their separate bodies.

A loud and ear piercing crack rippled throughout the room, and when Hermione opened her eyes, they had gone.

* * *

**Vonne: **Any thoughts, questions, or comments are appreciated and warmly welcomed!


	22. Welcome to the Jungle

**Vonne: **I love this- I love that we're all caught up and 'on the right track'. It's such a nice feeling, and a somewhat clean one too. For the last time, thank you everyone who stuck with me while these old chapters were being recycled out to you all. I appreciated everyone of your comments and now I am so overwhelmed with the response I have received from the last chapter. All of your reviews make my bad, good or bad, they motivate me to do better with these. Thank you so much! I am happy that we get to finally see 'Basket Case' roll to an eventual end. Finally!

So I'm going to stop typing this introduction now. I'm sure you've all grown tired of reading my rants. ;)

**Psychic City: **I know! It's about time I updated this, isn't it? I know you've only just submitted a new chapter to your fiction, but I'm still waiting for you to continue. I'm just going to be as impatient as ever for it. How's THAT for motivation? ;)

**shadowalk: **I am so flattered that you've taken the time to come and review what I've written so far! It really means a lot to me that you've been reading this story since the very beginning and I'm so glad that you chose to stop by and tell me what you've been thinking about it. Your comments really motivated me to finish this chapter up, really. I'd been going through a major writer's block with it, you know? I knew what I wanted to make happen in the process, but I was very unsure as to how to continue on with writing it. Thank you so much for your support! I appreciate all sorts of feedback, so thank you for your honesty, as well! Let me know if you have any suggestions for me on improvement- I'd love to hear your input!

**Doni: **A whole _bunch _of questions, huh? Looks like you're going to have to keep reading to find that out! This was a harder chapter to write, but hopefully you do enjoy it!

**pearlrose33: **They weren't exactly the most gentle of professional men, were they? I guess they just saw a job that they thought that needed to be taken care of and did it without much thought. Besides, the Ministry's been trying to put away the Malfoy's for a while, ever since the public upset that they'd dodged a lifetime in Azkaban. Unfortunately, the hospital is not the place that Draco's been taken to. We are nearing the end of this! Only nine more chapters to go after this one!

**WeatherWatch:** Definitely! Ron's one of my favorite characters. I used to be an avid Ron and Hermione shipper, but I find the whole Draco/Hermione thing to be more fun to write. So, I still like ot make Ron clever and funny, since he is my favorite character next to Malfoy. Actually, to be more honest, I can't tell who I like more. But redemption is a fun thing to read and write. So Draco's stories always (always) come from me. Ronald's just a little boy, after all. Still hasn't emotionally developed completely. ;)

**Midnight Demonn: **I'm sorry it took me so long to update this! Hopefully this'll be worth the wait! At least you all get to figure out what happened to Draco in this one!

**tartanbanana: **I'm so glad that this has got you guessing! That's been the point since the beginning. At least, I'm hoping that everything will pan out to fit together in the end. My goal is to tie up all the loop holes and make it solid! :)

**voldyismyfather: **Definitely! Here's chapter twenty-one for you!

**TragicSlytherin: **YAY! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter so much! I worked so so hard on making that long wait worth it after all. Now it's definitely hard to keep writing and updating fast, because I've got to actually finish writing these chapters now. I can't just update when I get the reviews. I've got to actually FINISH the chapter first and then I can update, you know? So, I'm finally glad to have this one finished. It's a shorter one, but I promise that the next ones won't be.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One:  
Welcome to the Jungle**

Hermione Granger had not moved for days. Instead, she slumped around the house like a specter, solemn and silent. She barely ate. Mornings were spent in a daze, feverishly wearing herself out before she had run almost completely out of sensible ideas. She was a notable ghost of herself only days before, where she'd spent the course of her afternoons rummaging through library books in hopes of somehow spotting a loophole in Draco's case. She had brought home a mountain of law books and has stacked them up on her table with determined curiosity. She'd stuffed her nose into the lot of them, read each and every book from one cover to the last. And still, despite her efforts, she'd come up with nothing.

The guards at Hobb's hadn't let her, or anyone else for that matter, anywhere near the building. A visitation to Draco was strictly off limits. Though, to make matters worse, Draco's admittance had not managed to stay out of the papers for long. And it had almost killed her when she read the headlines every morning in the press. According to all the newspapers, Draco Malfoy had 'finally snapped'; his parents, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were livid. She'd read that they had been at the Ministry for days in furious argument. Even Lucius hadn't been allowed near the institution and, during one instance, he had been escorted from the Ministry premises indefinitely.

Never before had Hermione felt so miserable. Her guilt was only a blatant understatement. What she'd felt was incomprehensible, was beyond words; and Harry had noticed it too. In a timid manner, he'd approached her with tea that she never drank, and meals that she'd only stared at. He'd been at the Ministry, as well, but had come out with far less success. The Ministry had decided right where they'd wanted Draco Malfoy, and swaying them was going to take far more than sheer luck. And, at the realization, Hermione felt a plummeting void in the center of her very chest, eating her alive.

"Hermione," said a quiet little voice from behind her, but Hermione didn't look up. Instead, she waited as the owner's hand reached itself forward, placing itself upon her shoulder lightly. She let her eyes graze sideways, back at the freckled and pale hand that rest on top of her. Ron Weasley, dressed in his professional and smooth-looking work clothes, wore a melancholy expression that only fractionally mimicked her own. He took a seat down next to her, looking outright exhausted, and chewed nervously at his bottom lip. "Hermione, I think..." he paused, staring up at her ruthlessly before continuing, "I think you should eat something."

Hermione's eyes scanned Ron's face. She wasn't hungry, and she knew that eating was perhaps the last thing on her mind. And yet, she considered the image of the boy in front of her with ample concentration. Ron Weasley had certainly aged over the years. While the freckles on his face kept him youthful, the lines under his eyes had marked all his years of heavy baggage. He'd lost a brother and had fought in a war. He was, by all means, a very strong and persisting man. He was the man that she had been in love with, once. She felt a burning sensation in the depths of her throat and at the same time she both wanted Ron gone, and to never ever leave her side again. She wanted to say sorry, sorry for the way things went, and sorry for their relationship having fallen apart.

And, though their separation was mutual, she couldn't help but feel all the more responsible. Because everything she came in contact with now was tainted, everything destroyed, just like Draco. Draco, the boy she was now irreversibly in love with. She'd demolished him, too. She'd promised that she could fix him; she'd promised, and she'd lied.

"Oh, Ron," Hermione's voice cracked, "I'm so sorry."

Ron blinked, softening at the seat opposite her. He locked his blue eyes into hers and pushed back his red hair to get a proper look at her. "For what, Hermione?" he asked, sadly, and Hermione could see the overwhelming stress in his eyes. He did not love her in that way anymore, either, but he had cared for her more than she knew. When he leaned forward towards her and made a gently grab for her limp wrist, she could almost clearly feel the sorrow of his physical contact. "What are you sorry about?"

"Us," she admitted, ready to tear up again. "I'm sorry that it never worked out between us... I'm sorry that I brought you and Harry into this."

Ron's face twitched. For a moment, he paused, seated at his chair stiffly with his hands still clamped around Hermione's thin arm. His blue eyes swam before hers, analyzing her misery and taking it all in. But he looked lost and confused, his vision searching for a spark of sense in her red and tired face. Then, he drew himself back, swallowing nervously before regaining himself. However, once he'd done so, he softly drew his torso back again towards her, rubbing her hand carefully. "Hermione," he said sincerely, "what happened between you and me was bound to happen sooner or later. It wasn't you, and it wasn't either of us." He fixed himself another swallow, pausing cautiously. His eyebrows knotted together and managed to prepare himself. "And I... I've seen the way you look at Malfoy." He yielded, glancing around the room awkwardly, as if he was certain he would never have found himself saying those words in his entire life. "You didn't bring Harry and I into this Hermione. We would have found our way into it, anyway," he shrugged, "and you know it." He added with a pristine and earnest tone, "if Draco makes you happy, we'll fix it. We're going to fix it, Hermione."

Hermione slumped forward, sliding her hand away from Ron and, instead, wrapping it around his shoulders in a tight embrace. He grunted unexpectedly as he felt her squeeze him forcefully, but managed a happy little smile as he lifted a hand and combed it through her head of messy brown hair. She felt an overwhelming warmth as he let her sniff into his shoulder and, when she'd finished, watched him analyze her proudly as she wiped at her tear stained face.

He nodded, grazing his fingers across her shoulder in a friendly manner before scooting away from his seat and smoothing out his suit. He stood above her for a moment, allowing her to compose herself. He dug his hands into his pocket, glancing over at the newspaper in the corner of the kitchen and making a mental note to himself to grab it and toss it on his way out the door. Thus, he slightly back peddled to the counter top and held his smile strong for his dear friend. "You sure you don't want to eat something?" he asked.

But Hermione tilted her head up, a grateful smile spreading across her face. She shifted her weight and motioned towards the door, feigning a positive attitude as she smirked, "go to work, Ron." Thus, the redhead took off his cap, bowing to her a worried little goodbye before he grabbed the paper and walked out the door, down the path, and out of sight.

And once again, Hermione felt herself alone and miserable. She held her smile until she saw Ron vanish and then, hopeless, she slunk back down in her seat, her grin melting, as her thoughts drifted off once again to Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Something harsh, long, and thin invaded the space in Draco Malfoy's throat. He moved his aching hand without thinking, and it propelled forward only to be stopped by the presence of something long and white pinned at the space of his exposed arm. His eyes slipped open in fractions, taking in an overwhelming sight of hazy white and sterile air. Something harsh and piercing struck through his open and dry mouth, making him heave and a pile of tears welled up in his half-shut eyes. For a moment, he thought he heard someone scream before a strange feeling of dizziness overtook him. Then he heard the nothingness.

Where was he? In the foggy daze that he saw the rest of the world, Draco could only make out the white sheets that had been placed across his body. He couldn't move his limbs, and he saw that he had been pinned down to a hard mattress that rest below him. The white walls leaned in on him invasively, and a dull colored eye swiveled around the room, watching him. The strong onset of his havering heartbeat struck loudly in his ears, making his chest rise and fall with every raspy breath. What was happening? Where was Hermione?

In his loneliness he could feel his body shake. Something shuffled from the rooms outside his door and he tried to scream for help. However, only a harsh yelp escaped from his throat and he pressed his eyes shut, grinding his teeth in hopes that the thundering migraine that washed through him would vanish. But every aspect of his entire body seemed to fail him. He couldn't move himself, couldn't see clearly. The sting of an open wound pained his numb face and he felt as if something were holding him by his very throat.

His own pounding breath filled his ears as he squinted back into his teary view. A terrified sob escaped his throat, too dazed to realize that he had even emitted such a sound, and he pulled against the restraints to no success. When the feeling of being choked intensified, he coughed, sputtering spit and saliva down the front of his clothes- white clothes that he had not remembered wearing earlier. The oversized, virgin-white shirt clung to his body with the sweat that covered the rest of him. The sleeves wrapped over his bruised arms, showed to him only the wrists in which two needles struck intensely outwards.

"H-Hermione?" Malfoy whispered in the loudest tone of voice he could possibly cough out. Even speaking out loud made him wince, and he pressed his back down further into the mattress as he felt the anxious stabs that knifed up his body. "'M-Mione?"

The door ahead of the blond opened, pressing an overwhelming amount of light back into the room. But the shadow in the doorframe lingered, scanning the room absently before even locking eyes with the struggling Malfoy, who cried out when the figure pushed its way forward. Tall, slender, and looming, the man that walked forward was dressed in all white. He wore gloves and glasses. His face was exposed as clean-shaven and middle aged, though his dark hair had been slicked back in a socially acceptable sort of manner. He did not smile when he brought himself closer. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, checking the clipboard in his hands.

He said sternly with a strong voice, "Draco Malfoy. You weren't supposed to be awake for another two and a half hours." Blinking, Malfoy could not rid himself from the tears that fogged his view. Still, he attempted to respond through the presence of the tube in his throat. However, his comment only came out sounding much like a muffled grumble. The man's hard face permitted his brows to rise. Perplexed, he leaned in closer, though he remained standing. Something about his stance made Malfoy uneasy; whomever he was, he did not seem ready to help Draco up from the uncomfortable mattress. "What was that?" the man asked, continuing to stare. "I couldn't understand you."

Draco opened his mouth, coughing before trying again. "Mrrrmmph?"

The unfamiliar man leaned back, nodding before returning back to his clipboard. He didn't waste time in bothering to answer the boy. Instead, he watched the quill above his head scroll down several sets of notes. Malfoy's eyes watched the thing two, tears running down the side of his red cheeks. His pounding heart beat roughly against his heaving chest and the last thing he remembered was Hermione. She'd been crying, he recalled. She'd been sobbing and her hands were stroking the side of his clammy face.

Over the sound of the quill scribbling notes, Malfoy could almost hear her mournful voice in his ears, could hear her crying, hear her whisper, _"Draco... I'm so, so sorry."_

Malfoy's face crunched in frustration and he again tried to struggle against the restraints across his body. He watched, horrified, as the man above him only stare down, unwilling to offer a hand to help. He thrust his head backwards, panting, the color draining out of his already pale face. His palms were clenched in fists and he couldn't help the sad sobs that rattled through him. He winced, feeling embarrassed by the persisting man's presence and his lack of help. Only, he felt the unease of nausea sway through his insides as the man's expression remained unchanging. While it seemed that he was fully aware that Draco was in pain, he seemed not to care. In fact, as he stood statuesque, only the quill above him moved as a response.

Coughing, Draco felt his own spit run down the side of his face, humiliated. He stumbled over his train of thought, feeling useless as he couldn't even recognize his own voice. "W-Wh-Where...?" was all he could manage spitting out. The man above him, however, cocked up an eyebrow. To Draco's relief, he seemed to understand.

"Hobb's Institute," he responded, though he didn't start delicately. Instead, he spat the comment harshly, continuing to barely react as he noted the reddening tint to Malfoy's perplexed visage. "You were committed last night, though you're not due to wake up this hour." The man leaned forward, ignoring the confused gurgles that croaked from Malfoy's sore throat. He took hold of the thin tube in the boy's open mouth and adjusted it forcefully, causing Malfoy to press his eyes shut. His eyes pooled over and his head rushed, winded.

Committed? Draco Malfoy felt the pressure of the man's hands on his throat and winced as he tugged. When he drew himself away, he paced back from the edge of his bed, ignoring the whimpers that came from Malfoy's direction. He could feel his body ache, but the pain was not what was on his mind at the moment. He wasn't sure he had heard the man above him correctly. The towering man with the accusing eyes and the stern gaze, he ignored Draco as his eyes swiveled around the white-wash room.

He instantly recognized the small space from his visit with Leroy Beevis only days ago. He remembered the way the walls leaned in on him, trapping him there on the mattress; the way the howls of imprisonment echoed from the other rooms into his tortured mind. The small single window that rest behind him had been covered by thick bars, and there rest a set of three desks towards the right of Malfoy's hospital bed. He saw the man approach it and gently pull open the drawers.

There was a scoffing of something in the corner and Malfoy watched the man's daunting shadow back up; something glistened sharply in the cradle of his wiry fingers.

_"Oh, Draco... I'm just so, so sorry..." _

The bold man made his way towards the crying blonde, who watched in fear as he was grabbed by the chin. The dark haired man tilted his head back, exposing his neck and bringing forth the thick needle that he held between his fingers. He ignored the choked gag that Malfoy coughed out and brought down the glistening needle. "Can't go off schedule, Mr. Malfoy," the man tutted, and he plunged the thing into Malfoy's sore neck with a forceful hand.

Draco felt the pain of the needle pierce through his neck like a knife. An onset of overwhelming numbness fuzzed through his body and he tried one last time to move free from the bed. However, a new sense of fog blurred his vision for the second time and he heard himself mumble something that even he couldn't understand. He felt the man yank the needle out from the side of his neck and press his palm to his sweaty forehead.

But the scene of inglorious whiteness only crowded Malfoy's haze, making him feel as if he were truly fading.

* * *

**Va Vonne: **I will update this ASAP!


	23. Try Not to Breathe

**Vonne:** I have been so extremely spaced out over the past couple of days and, for that, I greatly apologize. I am working hard to wrap up the end of 'Basket Case'. Hopefully I can move on to my other unfinished fictions in the meantime. Nonetheless, I am now more determined than ever. 'Basket Case' is nearing an end- not a close end, but an end nonetheless- and I'm hoping to finish it soon! That being said, I need to wrap up the plot holes and finish what I've started in its entirety.

So, with all that being said, please don't hold my laziness against me. I am learning from my mess ups as I go, for sure. Well, we're only young once, aren't we?

Will respond back to all of you next time! In a supppper big hurry and have had an awful day! I'm so sorry!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two:  
Try Not to Breathe**

Draco Malfoy, hands folded, vision blurry, sat in a slump at the edge of the cold metal sitting chair. His eyes refused to glance upwards, fearing another look into the impossible surroundings. Even his fuzzy head told him that his position was a false one. But there was something so strangely real about his situation that had persisted on haunting him. It kept close, flashing its ugly head until Malfoy could barely stand it any longer. And the culprit? He had no one to blame but himself. It was his fault, of course; though, through the bitterness of self-loathing, he'd wished that it wasn't.

"Draco Malfoy," said a strong voice, a voice so stern that it demanded attention, "you do understand the circumstances, am I correct? Your situation and state of mind is a very serious and fragile one and we are complied to treat you in the most fitting way possible so that you are neither a harm to yourself, or to others." Malfoy looked up, for the first time since he had been escorted into the dark conference room. Sitting across from him rest a tall and built man, jaw steady with the possibility of snapping. The man's blue eyes were chilling, and he looked almost blind in the intensity of tinted blue that it gave off. He did not look, in the slightest way, as if he were one for jokes or games and, for the most part, he appeared as if he'd wanted to lunge over and wring the very life out of Draco Malfoy once and for all.

Yet meek and timid as a little boy, Malfoy nodded his head up and down. It seemed as if his own ability to speak out loud had been robbed from him and, even without a long tube down the length of his throat, he still felt unable to murmur anything in the first place. However, the man seemed to command something from him, nonetheless. Without much sympathy, he cocked up his thick bushy eyebrow and said nonchalantly, "I'm going to have to ask for an audible answer, Draco."

Something about being addressed by his first name gave Malfoy the chills. Despite the professionalism in the institution, Draco had never been addressed as Mr. Malfoy. And perhaps it was merely the principle of it all, being addressed as such- Draco Malfoy was certainly not a boy anymore. He was twenty-two years old, old enough to be considered an adult. As he fluctuated between disgressing back towards his old prideful self, he wondered if expecting respect was a little bit far too out of the extraordinary. Still, he was certainly not about to ask for it. "I understand," he muttered, staring an invisible hole into the lap of his uncomfortable white trousers.

A slight pause overtook the room and the oldest man locked his jaw wearily. He proceeded to stare forward and then, suddenly, turned back to the notes he had been scribbling. Draco, on the other hand, remained ill. The discomfort that he had felt had doubled in size ever since he had been aroused in the early morning and dragged down the hall from his bed with haste. They hadn't offered him any warning, either. Instead, he'd felt the harsh tug of the tube at his mouth, felt the restraints being loosened from his torso, and then the cold tile on his bare feet as he was helped to the ground. The two men that had woken him seized his wrists and bound them together in silence, and Malfoy had been too weary to protest. Though, they had not been one for conversation, either. Over Draco Malfoy's frightened questioning, they talked amongst themselves, ignoring him as he yelped, "what's going on?"

However, despite the fact that Malfoy had been so vocally confused, in reality, he had garnered a fairly clear answer to what it was exactly that was taking place around him. From the beginning he'd known that he was loosing it. In fact, he had been telling everyone since the start. And now he'd been caught; it was bound to happen sooner or later. In the long run it was true; the crazies of society, they had all received their dues. And besides, he had surely been lucky enough to have dodged prison time in Azkaban. Perhaps his existence could not live without a sense of a world avenged; perhaps he, Draco Malfoy, was not supposed to go on without facing the consequences.

"And I suppose you've been informed of the rules here we have at Hobb's Institute?" the man inquired, once again glancing up at him. Something about his demeanor was chilling, as if he were a soul away from being human. He looked to be carved from stone or pulled from the ground savagely like an intruding weed. He did not give off the same sort of careful expression that Galler had shared with him. And sure, Malfoy realized that this man was not an thin, aged woman with gray hair and a pair of spectacles, but still, the two could not have been more polar opposites.

"Yes," Malfoy replied, staring down at his entrapped wrists. What had been the purpose of cuffing him anyways? They had stripped him of his wand and it was not as if he had truly been any threat. However, when they had laid down the rules for him, it had become certainly clear that their trust in him had been quite nonexistent. But overall, he had been told that his time spent at Hobb's would be regulated, and that he would, for the time being, not be allowed any visitors or contact with the Wizarding World outside the institution. He would be woken up at six in the morning and given breakfast, lunch and dinner regularly; however, they'd informed him that it would be a matter of time until they'd let him eat with the other patients.

He'd recalled with a certain amount of misery that they had also put off his time outside until further notice. His shower time had also been restricted. He was not, of course, allowed a wand and, to make matters worse, he was to attend therapy sessions as a daily chore. Though they had made one thing quite certain: any rebellion against the rules would not end enjoyably for Draco Malfoy.

"Now," squared away the man. He had finally leaned back, however, the ball was still in his court. "Do you have any questions?"

Malfoy's eyes scanned the area. Did he have any questions? What a stupid thing to inquire. Only several hours ago, he had woken up bound to a hospital bed with cords running out from his body at every end. _Questions? _Inwardly, Malfoy felt himself heat up and he was certain the man was now just toying with him. However, any sort of feverish instinct had left him completely. When, only years before, he would have drilled the man mercilessly, now all he could manage to do was sit there in silence. He'd even had trouble carrying on a steady breathing pattern. He felt surprised to feel himself weak, almost tearful in the fear of having to actually recite a sentence aloud. Yet, he dropped open his mouth, gawking at how to present the question without offending the man.

He felt uneasy, almost physically sick at the notion of his predicament. He had been trying for so long to ignore his deteriorating mental state that it had finally managed to catch up with him. His sanity was no longer a question, but a fact. "I..." he started timidly, feeling the onset of tears fog his vision. A sway of humiliation overcame him, not wanting to cry in front of the stoney man and the two onlookers that stood like statues blocking the door. He felt his face heat up without warning, finding the situation a bit too much for him to handle. "I d-d-don't..."

Once again, Draco stopped in the midsts of his useless sentence. Speaking up had not come as easily to him as he had previously hoped. The man opposite him, of course, had not helped matters by appearing so intimidating. Despite himself, he wished for the comfort of Galler, finding that he had missed her presence slightly. Still, he wasn't even certain about what it was that he had wanted to say to the man in the first place. So much had run through his mind, yet he couldn't possibly settle on one thing and one thing alone. Uncertainly, he flicked his eyes upwards again, swallowing a pestering lump in his throat and trying to look somewhat composed. He managed, however, by only a fraction.

"I-I d-d-don't... u-understand," he said finally, lost. His gray eyes scanned the man's fiercely blue ones, hoping that he would answer him in a more kind tone than he had previously taken to.

"What is it that you don't understand, Draco?" the man asked, snapping slightly, though remaining flat and unchanging. He shifted in his seat, making a quick note of Malfoy's confusion in the scroll of parchment that dangled above his head readily. "I was under the impression that you had confirmed your understanding of Hobb's circumstances?"

Malfoy felt the pain in his throat scratch mercilessly at him, making it almost impossible to keep from crying. He felt a hint of frustration at himself for letting his eyes well up vulnerably, but blinked out the tears, thus leaving himself with glossy red pupils. "I j-just... w-why..."

"Why is it you are here?" the man finished for him, cutting him off harshly without apology. "Is that correct, Draco? Are you unable to comprehend why it is that you have been committed to Hobb's Institution?" The man's eyes searched the face of the young blond, offering him insight with a twist of his own facial expression. The man lacked the same passion that Elaine Galler had once given him, lacked insight and sympathy altogether. In front of the hard-looking professional, Malfoy felt small, unable, and a bit exhausted. Something in his eyes made his shoulders fall, harshly crushed with the lack of sincerity that the man had thrown at him. He lifted, once again, his big eyebrow and titled his head, frustrated with a lack of answer from the boy. "Hm?" he asked for one last time.

But Draco could only nod his head, unable to comply with the man's desire of vocal audibility. However, this time, it had not proved to be much of an issue. The Hobb's instructor leaned forward, his face caught in the dangling light and, for the first time, Malfoy could clearly see the shimmering name tag on the man's white coat: Dr. Bowen. "Well, let's see, Draco," Bowen resumed, positioning his face even more towards Malfoy so that he could understand the bitterness in his vision. "Since _escaping _prison time in Azkaban, your mental well-being has been clearly fluctuating. You've been reported to have attempted suicide and there have been reports of an attack on innocent people in the streets of Hogsmeade during the late night."

Malfoy blinked. Attacks? He hadn't...

Within the instant, the recollection of three men cornering him at the back of a pub came to his heavy head. He remembered with great embarrassment that they had seized him with threats before leaving him with a split lip, a black eye, and a limp that had lasted a week. "... T-The m-men from the p-pub?" he asked anxiously, the color draining from his face. "Months ago?"

"Time is irrelevant, Draco," responded Bowen and Malfoy's face plummeted.

"... But I didn't... I n-never... _they..." _he found himself stuck, unable to even spit out what it was that he was trying to say. Nonetheless, the was certain that, even if his words had come easily to him, it wouldn't have mattered much. Dr. Bowen had already made his stance clear and, despite Malfoy's uneasy stammering, there was nothing that could sway him from his opinion on the situation.

Bowen relaxed his features, growing tired of watching Draco Malfoy stutter before him in a sweat. "The Ministry cannot afford to have you on the streets when you are clearly a danger to others, as well as yourself. He explained casually, "Hobb's is not prison, Draco, but an alternative. We recognize that, aside from your part as an Ex-Death Eater, you have not compiled any criminal reports. Yet it is your mental state that we are looking at currently, not your track record."

Malfoy's head spun. All he wanted to do was to go home; if it meant that he could never leave the confines of his room again in his life, he would even have jumped at the chance. The walls of the white room swelled in eagerly on him, ready to devour him and make him part of its chaos. He felt an aching and excruciating pain in his side, as if he had already become one of its lunatics. And then came the shadow again, the one of the Dark Lord from his past. Lord Voldemort, with his crooked smile and his rotting flesh, stood spookily in the corner of the white room, his eyes watching with curious inquiry.

"Hallucinations, visions, hearing voices that are not actually existent... there are many wizards here who are experiencing the same thing," Bownen explained, using his hands to gesture out his point. He did not seem to notice that Malfoy had shrunk in his spot, avoiding eye contact with the present figure of his ex-leader in the corner of the room. "We've been treating them for years. For years we've been keeping society protected from them." Then, withdrawing himself, he readjusted his head and placed his crossed fingers along the flattest spot in his lap.

The swing of something terrible illuminated in Malfoy's very core. He felt his vision pop, once again surrounded by the haze brought on my uncertainty and a sanity consumed. It was that same feeling, the very one of loneliness and abandonment, the same one that made him feel weak and inept. Dr. Bowens had still been talking, but the ability to hear his strict voice had been blocked out of Malfoy's head. He could only hear the pounding of his own heart as it echoed in his empty core. And the shadow of Voldemort had gone, leaving his follower of the past to himself for the first time in a long time. Thus, there was nothing but the white room for the terrified blond and, with every havering breath, he shook with fearful anticipation.

"I think..." said Dr. Bowen, noticing the distinct pallor that Malfoy's visage had overtook, "I think that Hobb's is a very suitable place for you, Draco Malfoy."

* * *

He was handed one towel, one bar of soap, and a time limit. However, there was something about the view of the cement showers that made him freeze, unable to properly balance himself and stride again forward. Yet he felt the clamp of chilly hands on his shoulders, pushing him forward with such force that he almost lost his footing as the sound of a door shut harshly behind him. The faucet started on impact, as if signaling for him to enter the place, but Malfoy, fiddling with the hem of the sanitary white towel, took a glance around the bathrooms before even daring to do so.

Hobb's shower room looked like a gas chamber and Malfoy had to double check that toxic gas wasn't actually spewing from the ceilings as he stood frozen, further wasting his time. The only light that hung from the ceiling dangled above him, reflecting on him invasively. The cracked tiles were cold on his bare feet and he staggered out into the open, using the edge for support as he felt the blood drain from his head. There were no windows aside from the foggy glass at the wall. From Draco's end, it was impossible to look through, though he was certain that his every move was being watched. Nervously, he felt compelled to cover himself, humiliated about being given only a towel. His jittery arms fumbled quickly, turning a bright shade of red before pressing his back against the wall and breathing out deeply.

This wasn't an institution, it was an asylum. He had been at Hobb's for only a matter of two days, though it had seemed like weeks. Already, he missed human contact. He'd seen almost no one in his time alone, and loathed the scheduled times when he was brought meals to eat in the confines of his own room, alone. He barely touched it, surveying the soup as if it were poisoned. They placed his medication in a tiny round and paper cup beside his tray and waited for him to take it before exiting the room and leaving him be. His hair had turned sloppy with grease, and his eyes had turned black with bags. He'd only slept when they'd drugged him, and only spoke when he was forced to. And when they'd permitted him to use the showers for the very first time since his arrival, he'd allowed them to hoist him up and lead him there, obliging in silence.

Nonetheless, the notion of being supervised did not make the showers any less terrifying. He proceeded forward with caution, knowing that if he did not enter the showers, Dr. Bowen and the others would certainly not be happy. Still, he let the towel drop with embarrassment and fiddled with the bar of soap before standing like a deer in the headlights underneath the shower head, one hand over his slender torso and one over his crotch. He didn't dare move a muscle and instead let the freezing water rush over him, plastering his long blond hair to his face. The rows of shower heads made him anxious, shaky with worry that he would share the place with thousands of crazy madman in due time. And the very thought of their existence struck a cord with him, making his heart beat faster with the fear of it. Perhaps they could see right through him, or would recognize him from the war. Insane or not, he was certain that, even in an asylum, he would lack a handful of fans.

Malfoy shoved the horrifying thought away and blinking, he turned to the hair cleansers at the side of the wall, built into it as if to prevent any unneeded violence. He lifted the hand from his chest and pushed a small amount of the stuff into his hair before quickly washing it out. The ice cold water stung his open scrapes, but he felt frozen to the spot, as if moving would only upset the insitution staff further. Thus, he remained steadily put, feeling a red tint of anxiety taint his pale face. He ran his quivering hands though his blond head of hair, slicking it back uselessly before the water only brought it back in front of his eyes. But, despite himself he breathed out, still dreading the sight of the showers in their entirety. Even the view of it had sent chills up his hunched spine and he found himself wishing for his room, his father, and for Hermione.

Hermione. The very thought of her made him feel weak upon the gray tile of the shower grounds. Unwillingly, a sob bounced out of his throat and taunted him as it shot back, echoing around the hollow room like a distant ghost. He could barely remember the last time he had seen her; he had been given so much medication that he could hardly remember the night at all. However, one thing he could not forget was her face. The look of sorrow etched upon her visage made him hurt. He could feel his stomach twist solemnly at the very memory of it. Her tearstained face haunted him, brought back the horrors of making her miserable.

It had been all his fault. He, Draco Malfoy, had brought every single ounce of pain in her life and, without him, she would have been far better off. For an instant he loathed that stupid radio and resented the night he had stumbled on it. Despite himself, he wished he could take it all back and let himself rot in his insanity alone. Bringing Hermione down with him had only made his predicament worse. She was no longer the same girl he had seen at school, was no longer at peace with the satisfaction of winning the war. Because of him, she had now an entirely new issue to fret about. And he was just not worth it.

A bout of miserably fluster washed over him and he blinked, staring back into the world of the gray showers, lackluster in its empty light. The water had flattened his hair and had stuck to his face with harsh enthusiasm. However, he regained his structure composure, reaching once again for the pumps and emitting a small drop of conditioner into his palm before expelling it onto the crown of his head. Scrubbing it into his scalp made him feel weak, as if he could hardly hold up his hands through the duration of it all. Thus, he dropped his arms quickly and washed the conditioner from his hair hastily. Then, he waited for direction. Nonetheless, he seemed to have been left to himself. The showers did not shut off, and no one called for his departure. Awkward and angular, he stood stilly, shivering cold and dripping wet, as the shower rained down on him in the dark like a thunderstorm.

_"Well, well, seems as if Draco Malfoy has finally come off his hinges, hasn't it?" _the slither of a voice all too recognizable bounced off of the cement walls and hit Draco like a spinning hardball. His feet felt planted to the floor, unable to take his body anyplace safe. Yet the pounding voice had not yet retracted from his ears. Blistering and threatening, it swam through his head like a broken record, stuck on repeat. There was a break in the noise, however, and for a split second, Malfoy heard only the rhythm of his own hoarse breaths.

_"Certainly looks as if you've completely lost your marbles." _

The sound of a snake slithered through the shower room and Malfoy's eyes searched the place. He was certain he'd heard Nagani, though the sight of her was nowhere to be seen. Thus, anxious, he chewed on his bottom lip, fighting the onset of frustrated tears that were threatening to spill from his eyes. The impossibility of an escape form the voices was a realization that had hit him hard, causing his knees to haver and his posture to slacken. He felt stupid and vulnerable under the running shower head and, pressing his eyes shut, he suppressed a sob in the pit of his pain-ridden chest.

_"Look at me." _Draco held his breath and pulled his bloodshot eyes open wearily, glossy eyed and afraid. And there he was again, standing before him with his arms crossed, draped in a long black cloak. The emerald green snake coiled around his feet, slipping out its long pink tongue hostly as its eyes flickered in the darkness. Without permission from the asylum staff, Malfoy's feet found the strength. He panicked, using the shower wall to stumble forward and lunge for the towel with full force. He coiled it around his thin waist and stumbled from the running showers, up against the cement wall with a heaving sternum.

His eyes gave in, sending tears down his cheeks as he choked out another pitiful sob. "I... I'm f-finished now!" he called to the staff outside the room, watching Voldemort near him, wand in hand. "I'm d-done... please l-let me o-out!" Voice breaking, he waited for a response, any at all. But nothing came to him. No doors opened, no lights flickered on. He prayed that they simply had not heard him. "Please!" he shouted, more desperately now as the Dark Lord had made his way even nearer, "Let me out, please!"

Weakly, he felt his knees buckle beneath him. His back slid down the harsh wall and, with a thud, he landed on the ground, blinking up at the looming shadow before him. He felt the cold that suddenly washed over him, as if he were being eaten alive, simply and slowly. But Malfoy couldn't move. Instead, he remained on the floor of the bathroom, eyes watery and upwards, staring back towards the demonic Lord ahead of him. He saw the blood curling grin that the man passed down to him and waited for him to make a move, waited for him to end his life. A death after a death.

He pushed his matted hair away from his face with the front of his clammy palms, chest heaving up and down fearfully. But the man above did nothing. He didn't move and he didn't speak. Instead, only his smile remained. Watching, he allowed the emerald green snake to run along his shoulders like a spiral. Draco swallowed the large lump in his throat, blinking the tears out of his eyes. He coughed, feeling the burning sensation back in his lungs. Then, with a heart-felt heave, he sputtered, "g-go away."

Voldemort raised up his inquisitive brow. He did not respond, only remained as stone.

"Y-You're dead," he clarified in the room, feeling naive to the asylum staff that he knew were only just watching. He shuttered at the thought of what they might be thinking of him now. There, alone, conversing with the bathroom walls- certainly crazy had been an underestimation on their part.

But Malfoy was certain of the ghastly figure he saw before him, couldn't have been more certain. "This is impossible... y-you're impossible." But the voice that the Malfoy boy used had not been perhaps convincing enough. The timid whimper that he emitted was only forceful enough to broaden the smirk on the Dark Lord's visage. Nonetheless, the remained standing and ever so present. Draco pressed his eyes shut and when he opened them, he hoped for the man to vanish. However, he was gravely disappointed.

But the boy lost any amount of confidence he'd had left within himself. The reassuring voice that he had previously tested had faltered, leaving him uneasy and ill. He choked on a new sob in his throat, frustrated and humiliated. He'd come down to this: a space in a gray cement asylum bathroom, half naked and scrutinized on the floor before ample amounts of people who just would not help him. He had nothing to look forward to, anyway, had no light at the end of the tunnel. There would always be the same shady figure, would always be the presence of the very man that had haunted him throughout seven years of his life. Lord Voldemort, the continual shadow; Lord Voldemort, breathing ruthlessly at the back of his neck.

Lord Voldemort, carefully watching him while he'd slept.

Malfoy's face reddened, wet with tears that flooded down his face. He considered the fact that, over the past few months, his life had taken quite a dramatic turn. In a matter of months, he had lost his bloody mind, and he had tried to commit suicide by jumping off of the top of a bridge. He'd consumed enough alcohol to fill up the contents of an entire pool (or perhaps an ocean's worth), and he'd stayed overnight at the very house that belonged to both Harry Potter and Ron Weasley combined. He'd ended up in a loony bin, committed in fact. The entire world had thought he was completely and irreversibly insane.

He'd fallen in love; fallen in love with Hermione Jean Granger. But he couldn't be with her; not anymore, not like this. For his turmoil and the barrier that he had created, he'd loathed himself. But he hated the ghostly man more. Hated him for taunting and tormenting him, hated him from forever standing in his way towards happiness. The Dark Lord would always be there to haunt one Draco Malfoy. Even in death, his memory lived on.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

The question came from Malfoy as more of a cry, a sob to signify that he had completely given up. He didn't care about the men and women at the other side of the glass and he didn't care what they'd thought. The man in front of him- he was real, he could feel it. Despite all thoughts before he, Draco Malfoy, was not crazy. He was not insane and he had not lost his marbles just yet.

Voldemort did not even twitch. However, a shrill voice from the back of the room sounded out, mocking him. Though Draco was certain that only he could hear it, the tone of his aunt Bellatrix echoed throughout the bathroom walls. She mocked, _"why are you doing this to me?" _and Malfoy felt a second sway of nausea rise in his throat. His shoulders fell and he lifted his hands into his blond hair, grabbing his locks at the very root.

_In a chokingly dry manner, he sobbed, "what do you want from me?... Please! Oh no, this isn't happening..." Slumping forward, Malfoy curled back into himself. He let his head fall into his hands and felt the unstoppable storm rise in his chest. Despite being heavily scrutinized, by Voldemort and by the asylum staff, he cried heavily into his palms, hugging his torso and shrinking away. Yet, someone from behind the darkened glass had taken the cue to finally spring into action. He did not hear their oncoming footsteps, but heard the final creak as the bathroom door swung open and a white coated presence stood before him, replacing Voldemort casually._

They said nothing, but made instant haste towards him, grabbing him by the forearm and bringing him messily to his feet. "H-H-He's h-h-here... p-please j-just make him go away," Malfoy begged, finding that he had run into the chest of the suited male staff member, still frightened and covering his face from the mess.

"Who?" shouted the man, whose voice Malfoy recognized as Dr. Bowen instantly. The doctor reached forward, yanking Malfoy away from him and holding him out by the shoulders. His hands had pinned Draco's arms to his side and Malfoy's fingers found the edge of his towel, holding it up desperately as he tried to glance around. "Who is here?"

"Voldemort," Malfoy coughed, still sick and red in the face. Then his eyes spotted him again, lingering against the corner of the room, his hands running up and down the head of Nagani. "T-There!" Malfoy stuttered, "I s-s-see him t-there in the corner!" Bowen's eyes glanced aside casually and, noting that the corner was empty, he motioned for the others behind the tinted glass. There was a quick shuffle of feet and someone shoved a pair of boxers and a long-sleeved white shirt into his chest. He fumbled for it, pulling the shorts over himself and yanking on the shirt. It stuck to his wet torso and bled through instantly. But the staff's lot had already forwarded themselves, grasping on to Malfoy intensely without much of a double check for the man.

In his head, Draco willed for them to drug him. He wanted them to give him the works- knock him out, supply to him an overdose of pills, put him to sleep. Anything to make the image of the dark figure leave his eyesight. But the group never touched him with medication. Instead, they whisked him out of the bathroom, ignoring as he tripped over his feet, clinging on to the sopping wet towel as he was supported upwards on either side of his shoulders.

As they forced him forward he felt dizzy under the flickering lights above, chilly in the soft air that passed him by in his dripping wet clothing. The faces of the condemned stared in to him, watching silently as he passed. Their eyes followed him as he was led passed them, away from the cement bathroom and further down the hall that seemed never ending. His breaths were slow and his uneasy mind told him only to inhale, exhale, and behave. "P-Please m-make him g-go away," he cried, desperate as he could see the figure from the very corner of his eye. He was a mess, and he'd known it; though he'd moved far beyond the point of minding much. His sticky wet hair struck out in different directions and the water had brought to life every swollen, bruised, and sore spot that had tainted his pale face. Through the elongated hallway, Bellatrix repeated back after him.

Thus, he did not move. Instead he remained still, his feet barely touching the tiles below him. But something was not right; he'd noticed it after he'd been led passed the door of his own room, passed the thick layer of joint rooms altogether. Then they were led down deeper, where the flashing lights only flickered and barely let off a spark. A could hear the creak of pluming and the slow quiet moan of some other being, yet his mind was filled with absolute panic.

Anxious, Draco turned his head back towards Bowen, whose face was pitched forward, away from him. "W-What's h-happening?" he asked, passed being embarrassed over what had begun to become a runny nose. "M-My room's..." However, Bowen not even turn his face. Desperate, Malfoy found himself begging, the room spinning and the world leaning on invasively upon him. "D-D-Doctor... Doctor Bowen? Please.. I-I... HEY!" He spun around still, feeling trapped within the grip of the others at his side, still supporting him. The world around him had begun to spin far too quickly out of control. Whether or not he'd known it, he could finally feel that he was slipping and he always would be.

"HEY!" He called back out, not directly to Bowen, though simply to the rest of the crowd supporting him. "HEY! Put me down! Stop, please... _LISTEN TO ME!_" He felt a sharp and instant turn in the step that they had been leading him in. And, among a set of three other distantly spaced out doors, rest the middle one. Dead center, the massive white thing looked overbearing. Like a shadow, it bent against the walls and its rusty and chipped white paint made it look daunting and unbreakable.

The men said nothing. Instead, one of them lifted up his wand and gave the door a slight tap. Only a moment passed. Within a second, the thing crept open, giving Draco only a slight look into the contents behind it. "No! Wait, please!" Malfoy screamed, attempting to backtrack, but was only just rooted to the spot. "H-HEY!" Someone's hand came down on his mouth with full force, driving through his lips a set of dual white pills that he had hardly a chance to look at. But the palm held there until he couldn't hold his breath anymore, held there until he was forced to swallow it...

Then he was shoved forcefully. He felt his body fly to the side, through the open area and into the closet-like room. He lost his footing, stumbling over the back of himself so that he had barely regained his posture in the middle of the room. And there he was; Voldemort, against the thick wall, the same crooked smile upon his rotting face. Draco sobbed heavily, his chest and shoulders dropping as he felt the haziness creep in vibrantly around him. Then alone, he stood panting, watching the men at the other end as the retrieved their wands and lifted it back up to the door conclusively. "You can't l-leave me h-here w-with him!" Malfoy explained, crying out as he tried to stumble forward. "P-Please, n-not w-with h-him!"

However, the door neared its ending point without much hesitation. And the men stepped back, taking their time to watch as it slammed shut before him, leaving Draco to the dark and to the man who had lived on, even pass death.

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**Vonne: **Made it extra long! Reviews are appreciated!


	24. And Back Again

**Vonne:** I am so sorry that its taking me so long to update this fiction. I have been experiencing bad writer's block, but I'll explain more of that below. Right now, I will instead get straight to the point, which hopefully is a good thing. Thank you for all the fast reviews on the previous chapter. I am so happy that so many of you have taken a great interest in this.

**Doni: **Thank you! HA, as sadistic as that sounds, I pride myself on my ability to make Draco suffer. He'll probably go through a lot worse before he manages to wind down, though. Don't worry. ;)

**Fogell: **Hello! Thank you so much! I really love to write and its always a compliment when someone likes to read what I pen down. I am so happy that you've come across something that I wrote that appeals to you! And I hope you don't have TOO many nightmares, either! :) I actually really wanted to make sure that I put the true characteristics of Malfoy into this story because I didn't want to loose who Malfoy truly is. He's kind of a pompous git, you know? And even when he's softened up, I wasn't too keen on having him become some complete pansy... only a little bit of one. ;) But, definitely- he's just as difficult to get along with as ever. And I definitely know what you mean about the lack of magic in this story. It was actually unintentional. I wrote this out and then went back when you said that and realized how LITTLE magic there is in it. Oops... ha ha, my bad. Anyway, I'm glad its not too, too much of an issue. And I think you may just get a happy ending... maybe. ;)

**Voldyismyfather: **Thank you, thank you! I so appreciate all the reviews you leave me.

**Pearlrose33: **Exactly! The Wizarding World hasn't been so fond of Draco and his family ever since the end of the war. The Malfoy's barely escaped a lifetime in Azkaban. Of course, that doesn't settle too well with the rest of the Wizarding World out there. Though the books seem to suggest the Draco grew up, had children, blah blah blah, I'd like to consider filling in the gaps. I think that Draco definitely must have had a hard time with all of that. There's no way someone could just pick up the pieces of a life like that right away, you know? Oh, and I've added the twist of Hermione Granger in there, as well. Draco and Hermione seem like a better fit.

**OanDuress: **Thank you! Hopefully he'll have some help coming along the way. Maybe Hermione will prepare the troops?

**AliceWednesday: **Hobb's definitely is not a very fun place, is it? Especially to think that Beevis is somewhere in that building, as well, you know? I don't think that treatment like this in asylums are common anymore, no. But I know that they definitely were back a long while ago and I wanted to bring that creepiness back to Hobb's, which isn't actually a real place in the Harry Potter world at all. Still, I'd imagine that asylums in the Wizarding World would work a lot differently that asylums in the real world. You know how prisoners are treated in Azkaban? Hobb's works the same way, expect for the fact that its patients are criminally defective. Definitely a lot to work with, huh? :)

**Shining Bright Eyes: **Oh good! I'm glad that you're still up to date with this- it makes writing it all the more worth while. Let's definitely hope that Draco gets out of Hobb's soon enough. He's definitely loosing it in there, isn't he?

**Tragic Slytherin: **Thank you! I'm glad that you think that the last chapter was worth the wait! You're going to have to find out what I am leading you on to believe, aren't you? ;) I hope you stick around with this story long enough to find out. Or at least, I hope you're not disappointed with the ending... HAHA.

I'm sorry that I did not get to the bulk of you that reviewed today! I promise that I will be more through next time around! Anyway, I feel like this is a filler chapter and for that I apologize. The next chapter will involve A LOT going on so it will definitely be worth it... hopefully. Thanks for all the love and support in this! I appreciate it again until the very end.

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**Chapter Twenty-Three**  
**And Back Again**

"You'd think... considering what we've done for them... they'd, you know, cut us a break?"

The first words of the morning, uttered by none other than Ron Weasley, came as a grumble throughout the air that sped past the two other figures at his side. In the center of Hermione Granger and Harry Potter, Ron fastened his focus back on the Ministy building, his gloves burried deep within the pocket of his coat. Though his attempt at lightening the situation with humour had failed, he readjusted himself mechanically, as if to further prepare himself for the moment. And, of course, he'd needed the preparation, too. As the moments ticked down, he knew that, eventually, they would be waltzing through the doors of the Ministry and demanding for the freedom of one Draco Malfoy.

At his side, Harry glanced over. He looked sickly behind his foggy glasses and, from his pocket of his jacket, he withdrew a long cigar. Ron's ears reddened. Why hadn't he thought to bring his in the first place? "Well, I've got to admit," Ron mumbled jealously, glancing back at Harry with a dumbfounded expression, "you at least look convincing." Harry glanced down the bridge of his nose to the bulk of the brown cigarette from in between his lips. A slight smile crossed over his face and, before long, he pulled it out, deciding against it before he had even lit the end of it up in flames.

"Please," Hermione said, watching Harry place his cigar away, "try to be classy and polite. We're trying to sway them, not threaten them..." Her voice trailed off. However, if it came to threats, Hermione wasn't completely against the idea entirely. Ever since the Ministry had taken Draco away from her, she had felt nothing but misery. It had been a matter of weeks and all her letters had gone ignored. Thus, their arrival at the front doors of the place had been rather inevitable. A confrontation needed to take place and it needed to take place now. Nonetheless, Hermione was aware that both Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy had probably beaten her to the punch. Yet, the two had little authority anymore and Hermione was only slightly certain that perhaps she could do better. Or, at least, she'd hoped.

"Classy," Ron repeated, straightening out his business attire. "Got it." Hermione's misery had put Ron in a more submissive mood over the past couple of weeks. He had seemed to forget all about Draco Malfoy in particular and focus more on Hermione instead. Hermione glanced back over at the redhead, smiling to him with appreciation as he winked back at her solemnly. She wished that it didn't have to be like this; every moment of her existence had been sad and sympathetic. The two boys had walked around her on egg shells, offering their support whenever they thought necessary. Yet all Hermione could think about was Malfoy. She'd needed to get him out of Hobb's Institute, and that was all that mattered.

Still, nonetheless, she couldn't help the sinking feeling that plummeted low in the core of her heavy chest. "Thanks, Ron."

Ron shook his head, his blue eyes locking back into the front of the towering building. Even from a distance, the thing looked absolutely terrifying. He scrunched up his nose and considered the daunting place. "Don't mention it."

"Shall we?" They started off in a straight line, all three next to one another like a barrier. Hermione's hand brushed the wand in her pocket, feeling frightened, but absolutely ready to use it. Ron, on the other hand, made no attempt to hide his weapon, and neither did Harry. As the two boys strode in through the front gates, they let their wands dangle at their hips; their eyes searched the place analytically, just as eager to make contact.

Yet their intrusion did not go unnoticed. The moment they had entered, a swell of heart-felt welcome wound out through their ears. Though it had been years since the end of the War, the three had not been able to enter the Ministry without such sincere greetings. Although, this time Hermione did not feel the need to respond so friendly. Instead she curtly nodded, keeping her eyes perplexed on the ground below her. Her fingers still continued to fumble with the wand in her coat, and she glanced back up at Harry and Ron who did the same. And yet, she could not place a finger on the root of her quivering nerves. Ron was right: after all they had done, why wouldn't the Ministry be able to reach a conclusion with them? Certainly they were not one to deny the three who had genuinely saved their asses from complete dictatorship in the first place... right?

"Don't be nervous," Ron whispered out of the corner of his thin mouth.

"I'm _not_ nervous," Hermione lied, and Ron rolled his eyes before continuing in his unbreakable stride.

Hermione's head spun. She missed Malfoy. She missed his smile, though it was rare; and she'd even missed the cocky little tone he'd take up with her when only joking around. As they made their way across the polished marble that laced the floor of the large building, Hermione's head raced. She thought of the night that he had taken her to the lake. Frozen over with ice, she could almost see him standing there, his face bruised, yet smiling nonetheless. In her mind's eye, Draco Malfoy slipped forward on the base of his shoes, gliding along the marble towards her as he had done during that very same night. He struck his hand out before her, his olive green scarf flowing out whimsically behind his arched back. And then a beautiful smile spread across his ghostly pale visage.

_"I promised," _his voice said to her playfully.

_"Promised what?" _Hermione had said back then. She only heard her own curious voice as it circled around her fuzzy head. Yet the image of Draco on that night did not flinch. He had only laughed, eyeing her with a sense of sheer pride and delight. There was something so magical and care-free about him then- as if all the weight had been graciously lifted from his heavy shoulders.

_"I promised I'd take you skating, didn't I?"_

Hermione held on to the memory of Malfoy's last words. She hadn't noticed that she had faltered in her step, pausing as the other two men continued on without even noticing her pause. But she was captivated; held on by the vision of her love interest before her. His eyes searched her face, as if willing her to drop her worries altogether. This version of Malfoy was so relaxed. Her seemed oblivious to the worries of the War, or his flaking mental health. There was nothing that could phase him, not in this moment. Instead, his sole focus seemed to be with Hermione and his hand stretched out in front of him, willing her to take it. And her let her take her time, smiling as her eyes only continued to search him while her body remained unmoving.

For a moment she thought that she might break down in tears, but instead, the rush of a familiar voice seemed to yank her back to reality. "Hermione, aren't you coming?" Feet away from her, Harry and Ron stood in the doorframe of the elegant elevator before her. Harry's hand was outstretched, blocking the elevator doors and holding them open. His face searched her expression behind his glasses, curious but understanding. Momentarily, Hermione took to regaining herself. She felt stupid about her loss of determination and felt her face redden with the embarrassment. Nonetheless, she pressed her eyes shut and strode past the lovely vision of Malfoy, whose hand fell, but his smile did not.

She slid past him by his shoulder, teary-eyed as she turned her back on him and entered into the elevator. Then, when she'd finally found her way inside the thing, she stared back out into the main entrance of the Ministry building. Submerged in between all the busy and fast-paced business wizards and witches in the building, Hermione's mind only found Malfoy. But the closing doors blocked him from her sight and as she felt the lift descend, she watched him nod lovingly to her before vanishing out of sight completely.

_"Department of Criminal Justice..." _stated the female voice about the lift. The sound startled Hermione, sending a cold chill up her crooked spine. Yet she swallowed the thick lump in her throat, exiting the elevator along with Ron and Harry as they formed a narrow path down the blue marble hallway.

Everything seemed to bounce light back at her, further jolting up Hermione's nerves. Every golden sculpture she passed seemed to lean in on her, every whisper seemed to forever echo. Although, when they reached the door in front of them, the chaos seemed to halt. Newly thrust into a fearful silence, Hermione gazed upon the large and towering door that stood before them. She felt a drop in her stomach when Harry stated blankly, "this is it." The door was a massive and powerful thing. Its simple presence overtook the space of the blue wall before them entirely. There was something unwelcoming and horrifying about it, and Hermione had to press her eyes shut to rid herself of the persisting image that it made distinctive before her. When she pulled her eyelids back open, she found the twinkling name tag that had been bolted across the surface: _Dr. Lazarus Patel. _

"Patel?" Hermione questioned in a whisper, glancing up at Harry with a crooked brow and a slight frown. "Who's Lazarus Patel?"

Harry squared his shoulders away. "He's new... err, well, _newish._" There was a hint of distaste in Harry's tone of voice. Furthermore, at his side, Ron's face crunched. A swift wave of panic rushed over Hermione within the instant. She gaped at the name tag and released her hands from her pockets, only to jitter anxiously with them in the surface of the stale air before them. "What I mean to say is that, he's... he's..." Harry's hands moved around, as if searching physically for the correct adjective to describe the unknown man. However, Ron had no problem jumping in to help out his mate.

"What Harry is trying to say, Hermione, is that Patel's a complete arse." Ron offered, and Hermione stiffened. Harry and had both been working with the Ministry for quite sometime after the War had finally ended. Surely they'd have known much about Patel, and her mind spun at the thought that the three had any sort of disagreement with one another.

She ran her hand over the front of her face, "please don't tell me you've had a spat with him already," she prayed out loud, wincing up at the two men with a earnest expression.

"Fuck, no." Ron breathed, watching Hermione relax with ease. "But, I'll tell you something, Hermione, I'm getting bloody tired of having to hold my tongue around him all the- _oh."_

Before the youngest male Weasley had time to finish his sentence, the massive blue door before them had swung open. In the center of the large doorframe stood a short figure, rather stout and young in his appearance. Only when the reflection of the gold light hit his face, Hermione could see him clearly. Her first suspicion had been right about him- he was young and perhaps rested at an age only about five years older than Hermione herself. Dark hair swept over his shiny head and narrow eyes stared back at them in a shade of vibrant blue. Ron's demeanor faltered; this was definitely the man that Hermione had been aiming to see.

He was professional looking without a doubt, as well. In his dark gray suit, Dr. Lazarus Patel wore a shimmering blue tie with a light blue button-up underneath his blazer. On his wrist rest the bulk of a sparkling silver watch. His fingers were small, as if he were not meant to have climbed up to the size that he was, and his shoulders were rather broad and plank-like. He stood at only a couple inches taller than Hermione, but also severely shorter than both Harry and Ron before him. She saw the swoosh of something behind him and, within an instant, she noticed that it was his wand.

"I thought I heard something outside," Patel said wearily, glancing up at Harry and Ron with a set of tired eyes. Then he turned the bulk of his head towards Hermione, shifting slightly in her presence. "Ah, Miss Granger," he said and she was relived to see that a slight smile had graced his otherwise unfortunate face, "how nice it is to finally meet you."

Hermoine extended a hand, shaking his firmly with a solemn smile that she tried to pull off as bold and unafraid. "Thank you," she said back to him, feeling slightly more relaxed at the fact that his expression did not fade. He took to ignoring both Ron and Harry completely and, though his issue with the two men remained obvious, he seemed a bit more at ease in the presence of Hermione. "I was wondering," Hermione started, decisively getting straight to the point, "if I could have a moment of your time?"

Lazarus Patel stepped aside, revealing the shadowy confines of his large office. "Not a problem, Granger!" he stated, extending his arm out forward and gesturing her into the office. He beamed when Hermione stepped inside. He did not even seem to consider either Ron or Harry still left standing at the outside of his professional office. However, when he caught sight of the uncomfortable look on Hermione's face, his expression faded in response. However, he caught on to Hermione's discomfort rather quickly. As his focus shifted back to the left out men at the door, his shoulders slid uncomfortably at the notion of having to invite the two inside his office in the first place. Nonetheless, he fixed himself properly. "Oh. Come on in, Mr. Potter... Mr. Weasley," Patel scoffed, not truly looking them in the eye as he did so.

Thus, Ron and Harry scurried into the office, feeling relieved when Patel shut the door behind them and made motion to the three seats that rest in front of his office desk. His previously cheery attitude did not stick with him. Although he was not considerably sour, he seemed to speak to the group in a blank matter entirely. "What's the issue, then?" he asked, taking his own seat across from them. He folded his meaty hands across his desk and tilted his head to the side so that several pieces of his dark hair came undone from his slicked back style before.

"It's about Draco Malfoy," Hermione muttered, locking her eyes back into Patel's blue ones instantly.

Patel froze. For a second he only stared back at Hermione with disbelief. Being a man who dealt with criminal matters on a daily basis, Patel of course had heard all about the Malfoy son's situation. He'd reviewed all the files and had even taken reports from the men who had claimed that Draco had attacked them in the alleyway weeks ago. He'd been given access to the files and notes taken by Elaine Galler. Thus, after review, he had been certain that Draco Malfoy had gone completely out of line. Of course he was as mad as a hatter- and why wouldn't he be? With parents like his... with an upbringing like his... really, it was only a matter of time.

The mind of Lazarus Patel considered Draco Malfoy to have been merely a ticking time bomb. He had been trained by the Dark Lord himself. He had been asked to carry out a murder, as well. And though the boy had not actually been able to continue on with the murder of Headmaster Albus Dumble, Patel was certain that he had done his fair share of killings in the months afterwards. Yet Draco Malfoy's situation was not what had troubled Patel in that moment. Instead, he wondered why Hermione Granger would care about the boy at all.

"Ah, that," Lazarus finally responded, snapping out of his haze. He did not need to ask as to what the girl was inquiring about; he'd heard it all before. Both Lucius and Narcissa had been to his office in an absolute fury, demanding to him the release of their son. He'd remembered their visit with strong distaste. Lucius Malfoy was still all the more terrifying when it came to matters concerning his one and only son.

Hermione nodded, feeling the urge to continue. "I'd like to discuss the matters of his release from Hobb's."

"I'm afraid that, Ms. Granger, is rather out of the question." Lazarus Patel did not even glance up. He remained frozen in his seat, uneasy and unbreakable. Yet his eyes still searched Hermione's concerned face. He could see the redness as it crept up on her, could even focus on the flicks of frustration that overtook her once stern focus. At her side, Ron and Harry seemed to deflate along with her, exchanging looks. Hermione, however, remained quiet.

"What is so 'out-of-the-question' about it?" asked Ron, who leaned forwards slightly in his seat. His fingernails ground into the armrest. His eyes found Hermione before they glanced back up at Patel as if ready to challenge him.

Patel's eyes shifted, as if two icy blue glaciers. He found Ron and any amount of softness in his expression seemed to melt. "You are not the first ones to come to me about this matter, believe it or not. Other than _Mr. Malfoy's parents_, I've also spoke with Gregory Goyle about the situation."

Hermione muttered into her lap. "Goyle's been here?"

"Two times, actually," Lazarus recalled, looking rather grim. "Had to have him escorted from the premises, actually." Hermione shook her head, her eyes welling up with a sad onset of overflowing tears. "And I'm going to have to tell you the same thing that I told him: Draco Malfoy's case is not an easy one." Lazarus noticed Hermione as she shifted in her seat. She struggled to say something out loud, as if her comment were merely resting on the tip of her tongue, ready to be uttered. Yet when she could not find the courage to spit it out, Patel continued onward. "His mental stability is clearly through the roof. If you have come to me in hopes of getting him released from Hobb's Institution, then I'm sorry to tell you that you are rather out of luck."

He took a moment, cleared his throat and managed to continue. "I am merely a... a middle man, anyway. I don't approve or deny the release of a patient at Hobb's. My job is to permit a court decision in the case... if and only if I can see where the patient may be able to live normally in society. Unfortunately, in Draco Malfoy's case, I do not."

A bout of uneasy silence overtook the room. Hermione felt herself heat up. Half of her desired to reach for her wand. With hostile intentions, she considered what would happen if she placed the tip of her wand underneath his flabby chin and threatened to hex the living daylights out of him if he did not comply to her. Then, more sensibly, she knocked the notion from her throbbing head. What had she expected to do in the office anyway? According to Patel, all the begging had been done by Lucius, Narcissa, and Goyle. Still, she looked up, her eyes swimming with tears. She searched the face of the man, heated to see that he'd caught her so desperate. Yet nonetheless, she choked, "if you only review the case files..."

Lazarus shook his head. "I've done so, Ms. Granger. I've also reviewed the notes of Elaine Galler-"

"That woman is an absolute _disgrace _to-"

"Elaine Galler is a professional in her field, Mrs. Granger. Besides," he shifted, looking exceedingly guilty as he continued on, "if you must know, Ms. Galler was one of the few authoritative figures _against _comiting Draco."

"Pardon?" Hermione was not certain that she had heard the man correctly. She shook her head for the second time, this time more forcefully and to the point. Hermione swallowed, looking rather furious as she said out loud, "Elaine Galler told me that she considered Hobb's Institute to be-"

Patel held up a hand to stop Hermione from continuing. He seemed calm and collected when he noticed that Hermione had obliged, freezing in the middle of her sentence to give him the chance to speak. That did not, however, change the nature of her angry expression. With narrow eyes and a hot demeanor, she looked as if she were about to explode on the man altogether. "When Draco's condition was brought up to the Ministy, Elaine Galler refused to give up her notes on him, called it... 'patient confidentiality'. Sadly enough, Ms. Galler did not seem to fully understand the loop holes around such an idea."

Hermione sat, dumbstruck. Her focus fell and she concentrated loyally on the center of her lap. Her fingers fumbled with her wand, feeling stupid for ever considering the use of it in the first place. She wasn't hostile, she was defeated. She had run out of ideas and, as it turned out, everything she had thought in the first place had been twisted, as well. Her meek response of, "Draco Malfoy does not belong in there," had caused the room to stop. Neither of the men around her had said a word. Only Harry, whose eyes shot up analytically upon Patel, made the first movement. He watched the man through the glass of his spectacles as he, in turn, considered the woman before him.

She was so different from the girl that she had been all those years ago. Patel had read about her spirit in the papers, had seen her smile in the press. However, there was not even the slightest hint of happiness behind her facade. Right away, he took her as being lost. He noted the sadness that tainted her eyes, watched the vision of her mouth sag into a distinct frown. However, he knew within himself that he would not budge. Whatever sorrow he felt for the girl who had aided in saving the Wizarding World did not overpower his previous conviction.

Lazarus found the two men at her side. Ron and Harry's stares bore into him as if on fire. Yet Lazarus had never really fancied the two. Sure, he had at first, when he had initially met them on his first day. Yet, as young men do, they goofed around too much for his taste, all the while still receiving the upmost respect. And certainly he could not deny that they deserved it, sure, but he still managed to seethe at the memory of Ron Weasley, standing over his most prized plant, wand in hand, muttering, "err... sorry, mate. I didn't mean to catch your daisy on fire."

Bloody thickheads as they were, Lazarus' hard expression took to fading. He nodded at them before turning back to Hermione, his shoulders slight slipping upon his thick frame. "At the most I can grant you permission to visit, if that's what you'd like?" he offered, a hint of sympathy taking over his voice.

"Fine," Hermione stated without appreciation. Despite the bitterness in her voice, Patel only nodded and reached back into the drawer of his wooden desk. When his hand had emerged back out from it, he was only a small yellow slip and supporting a quill. He didn't say another word aloud. Instead, he turned to the document and signed the thick line at the bottom hastily. When he had finally finished initialing the thing, he offered it to Harry, in fear that Hermione might tear it up in the process of retrieving it.

He found himself only slightly surprised when Ron reached forward and snatched it from his grasp in an equally as bitter fashion. "Thanks," the redhead scoffed, looking sour.

"That is a pass for the week, Ms. Granger, permitting the three of you to see Malfoy, if that's what you'd like. I hope that it helps in anyway for you." Lazarus looked slightly disheveled. He glanced back to Hermione and lowered his head in her direction. "I'm sorry," he said finally, appearing morose and solemn to a rather heavy extent, "that's all I can do..."

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**Vonne: **I'm sorry again that its taken so long for me to update this. But I'm beginning to experience writer's block in the ways that I want this to play out. I have an outline in my head, but starting on writing it has been a lot harder than I had previously imagined. Nonetheless, I am going to finish this. There are seven more chapters left, so the end is near. Anyway, I will update at ten reviews and I am going to start writing the next chapter right away so I don't get too side tracked. Sounds like a good enough plan, huh? :)


	25. Spitting out the Demons

**Vonne: **I realize that I am a little bit behind on updating this; sorry, again! I didn't think that the last chapter would climb past 10 reviews so fast. That being said, I am thrilled that so many of you took the time to leave me a response! Thank you so much! I love hearing from you and blah blah blah blah. Anyways, I made a promise to myself that I would be shorter in these introductions, because I assume a large majority of you do not read them (and why would you, in all honesty, when they are just a composition of my own rambling sentences?). So, I will cut to the chase and get on with the usual business.

**Carl: **Oh good! Hello again! It's definitely always nice to hear from you. I hope you DO keep coming back, what with my writer's block and all.

**LivelyMcBrighten: **Thank you so much! I'm so glad that you enjoy this as much as I enjoy writing it. Your reviews definitely motivate me to keep going. Hopefully you didn't consider the gap between chapters to be too long. I don't like keeping people waiting because I definitely know how annoying that can be. I hope you like this chapter, too, and I'm so glad you're going to seeing this to the end.

**MCLanna: **After I finished writing the last chapter I was a bit weary on even submitting it, mainly because I thought it to be too much of a filler chapter. Not much went on expect for the fact that Hermione was granted permission to pay Malfoy a visit. However, her visit is important so I wanted to set it up properly. In the end, I could have made her visit part of the last chapter, but I really wanted to give that section of the story its own chapter. Still, I'm glad you enjoyed it- that makes me feel a bit better about it for sure.

**Le Candeh: **Thank you very much and I will!

**Psychic City: **HA, well, looks like we are both slacking off, seeing as I just got to the chapter right now. I promised I would update after ten reviews and I hadn't even got half of this chapter penned down. Before I knew it, ten reviews had come and gone. Whoops. From now on, I shouldn't make any promises. Nothing seems to ever pan out the way I intend for them to... ever.

**Hpcrazyy: **I definitely agree with you- eight reviews is amazing and I'm so happy that I even got up to that point with such a short and uneventful chapter that the last one is. Nonetheless, I am so behind. All these reviews mounted up on me like crazy and I didn't even see it coming. Thanks for your support in reviewing anyway. You know, it's so funny because whenever authors I like 'hold their story for ransom' I always made unsigned reviews to fill in the review requirements that they needed in order to update. ;) Hmmm. Either way, thanks so much! One thousand kisses to whomever you are. Or, maybe I'm just assuming? :)

**Dramionefiend: **Thank you so much! I hope this chapter was something to look forward to!

**Pearlrose33: **Exactly! So, at least there's some light at the end of this tunnel so far! I hope you enjoy reading this chapter, which will be about Hermione's visit. I needed to add more Hermione and Draco time into this, so I figured this was necessary, hm? :) Oh, and hopefully my writer's block will cure itself. Its not that I'm having trouble with where I want to go in this, its just that I'm having issue on how to begin writing it. I'm in too much of a hurry and I don't want to feel rushed, you know? Anyway, thanks again for your reviews!

**TragicSlytherin: **Oh good! HA, its just that I'm nearing the end of this and I'm getting all this anxiety built up about the ending. After about 60 long chapters (don't forget 'Radio'), I'm worried that everyone won't be too happy with the ending in some way or another. Like, I'll leave something important out of it, or someone will want to ship two people together, or I've totally gone off the deep end with an issue. Nonetheless, I'm going to keep up with what I have planned. I think that it suits this well and makes the most sense. AH! Well, I'm glad that you're going to stick with me- means a lot! :)

**Fogell: **Aw, thank you so much for your comment and review. I'm so glad that you like this story, because that really means a lot to me. I love responding back to everyone and I agree with you. People should at least acknowledge that other people have taken the time to submit reviews to whatever it is that they've written. There are SO MANY fanfictions written about Harry Potter that its amazing to me that people even chose mine to read out of the majority of these. Basket Case has so many alerts, hits, and favorites that I am literally blown away. So, responding back to all of you is definitely the least that I can do. :)

**Alice Wednesday: **Oh definitely. Malfoy will be at Hobb's for the vast remainder of this story, for sure. But maybe there's hope for him yet- let's hope he gets out of there SOON. Or else maybe he'll have no other option to go COMPLETELY out of his mind. Anyway, with Patel I wanted to show that maybe there is hope in Draco's situation yet. Besides, it DOES help when he's associated with the three kids that saved the Wizarding World's ass a couple years ago, doesn't it? Friends in extremely high places, so to speak...

**Voldyismyfather: **Definitely! Hermione visiting Draco is definitely a good thing in this situation. Maybe they can work something out?

**WeatherWatch: **Whoop! You were my first review, right away on this chapter! Thank you! Sorry that I put you last on this list- I started from the latest. But still, I definitely appreciate the comments and reviews you've been consistently leaving for me! They make my day- yay! And I definitely was glad to add something about Goyle in this chapter. You're actually the only one who noticed that I slipped that in there. Didn't want to forget about Draco's only remaining friend. :)

Anyway, this is going to be a long chapter- YAY! :)

**Chapter Twenty-Four  
Spitting out the Demons**

Hermione Granger felt consumed by the lengthy hallway that stretched out everlasting before her. A long chill crept up her back, convincing her of the true hollowness of Hobb's asylum in general. She was led by the vision of the dark shadow, a man dressed in white that had barely addressed her since she had walked in to the place with Harry and Ron at her side. Instead he only seemed to just lure her, deeper within the confines of the secure institution. Yet Hermione was certain; Hobb's was a prison. The white paint that had lined the walls so delicately at the place's entrance seemed to chip as they traveled deeper inside of the place. Shouts of the patients rattled her to the very core and she tried to remain collected as she heard the footsteps of the institute's patients behind the closed doors of their bedrooms. She had perhaps not fully prepared herself for the sight of it; knowing that Draco Malfoy was suffering along with them was enough to make her hazy with every continual step forward.

And yet she continued to follow the asylum director. In his white uniform, he looked daunting, even to Hermione who remained only a visitor to the place. Though she had left Ron and Harry back at the entrance to wait for her, she was certain that she had lost all of her confidence without them to support her. Nonetheless, she attempted to swallow her nerves, plunging her quivering hands into the depths of her jacket pocket for protection. She tried to focus on something else- anything that would take her mind away from Hobb's, even if only for a second. As they swept by the remainder of rooms that lined the hallway, Hermione counted the movements of her feet, further readying herself. Yet her mind only seemed to thrust her back into a similar circle. Without intention, she found herself almost hysterical with worry. How had she let this happen? As she had wondered during her sleepless nights alone, she asked herself: how could things have ever sunk so low?

She was supposed to be the cure for Malfoy's obvious unhappiness; she had promised him that she would make it better. And yet the horrifying realization of her failure had hit her harder than a ton of bricks. She had only made the situation worse. The notion that perhaps Draco Malfoy would have been better off without her was one that both frightened and plagued her mercilessly. Desperately, she shook the thought from her mind, feeling the sway of nausea catch her throat. She couldn't loose control- she had to do this, she had to see him... perhaps only to just say how sorry she was.

However, while caught up in her own collection of miserable thoughts, Hermione felt a shift in the atmosphere of the building around her. The man ahead of her was no longer moving. Instead, he had halted himself, pausing in front of a small little door, labeled '_Visitations'. _Upon sight of it, her stomach dropped and her mouth ran dry. When her leader proclaimed aloud, "this is it," she had to take a moment to even adjust to her new surroundings. This was it, too; Draco Malfoy, he was right behind those doors. The boy that she had both loved and doomed was there, waiting for her in the very flesh. No longer did she had to imagine him, no longer did she have to wish for him. He was there, so realistically so... trapped there because of no one but her.

"I-I... I can go in?" Hermione asked, staring at the door despite her nerves. Her eyes watched the man nod, though she could hardly make out the voice that carried his answer. Instead, she could only hear the thundering rhythm of her profoundly beating heart. It threatened to pound itself right out of her chest and onto the sterile floor within the moment. Yet the situation was too surreal, too far fetched and unimaginable. She wanted to turn around and run back down the hall, afraid of what Draco might say to her; and yet she could hardly contain her desire to kick the door down, rush inside, and swoop him up in a deep and passionate kiss.

For the first time, the man leaning above her opened his mouth. He spoke with authority and strength, booming a powerful tone that made even Hermione shrink down a little. "We will signal you when we are ready for you to make your leave, Ms. Granger," he stated, looking blank faced and serious. "It is my understanding that Mr. Potter would like a word with Malfoy as well?" Hermione nodded, but her eyes remained focused on the door. She retracted when the big man reached forward, brushing his hand down into the front of his pocket to withdraw his own stick-like wand in response. He gave a minute little tap on the surface of the thing and she heard the wall shift. Ever so slightly the massive door opened, granting her a small space to slip through.

"Listen for our call," instructed the man, watching Hermione carefully. She did not move although her brown eyes scanned the opening wearily. Instead she pressed her eyes shut, stalling before the door, adjusting to her own personal silence before stepping forwards. Yet when she finally did it, she did so in a stumble using the walls to support her havering step. Then he watched her disappear, vanishing behind the facade of darkness as slowly as she had come. Thus, the working man leaned forward, tapping the door once again with the tip of his wand for the final time. And the big door crept shut, enclosing the girl inside as it collided with the heavy frame.

Behind it, Hermione blinked. The room was much smaller than she had expected, and far darker, too. It took her only a moment for her vision to adjust before she even saw him. And yet, there he was, position in his seat across the broad table that lay out before her. She saw him before she even really got a good look at how simple the room was, before she had even noticed the lack of windows. His slumped figure was heart-breaking and he hadn't even looked up from the floorboards. Thus, the only thing that she had been certain of was his head of greasy blond hair. It dangled in front of his hidden face and through the silence she was certain she'd heard him groan.

_"D-Draco?" _Hermione whispered, and Malfoy's head slipped upward. Yet the way in which he moved made Hermione's heart ache. His head practically lolled upwards, tiredly as if pulled into the air by a hidden string. His eyes flashed, trying to focus onto the shadow in front of him that he could not truly make out. And the expression on his face was vacant, as if he were not truly one within himself, but only a former ghost of whatever it was that he had been before. "...Draco," Hermione tried again, stepping forward. She made her way to the empty chair across from him at the other end of the table. The room was quiet and almost too much so; Hermione could hear his heavy breaths as he struggled to fill his lungs.

"'Mione...?" slurred Malfoy's figure, uneasy as if intoxicated. He looked as if he had trouble even holding up his head.

Hermione's eyes narrowed and her chest dropped. She wanted to lean forward and brush his hand, though she could see that they had been bound together by the wrists, and forced into his lap. Nonetheless, Hermione motioned forward, leaning across the table with her hands outward as if she wanted to touch his cheek. "Draco..." she started, looking uncertain and all the more ill with every passing moment. "... C-Can you hear me?"

Malfoy's eyes flicked upwards. He appeared as if he were having trouble even remaining focused onto her. However, his mouth slipped up into a sad smile, his glassy eyes scanning her face solemnly. She could see past his false expression and her shoulders slumped in response. He moaned, looking overly sloppy, and blinked, trying to remain as if he appeared somewhat okay. "... I missed you," he said back to her, continuing to inch downwards in his seat.

But Hermione shook her head. Something was not okay. Behind Draco's eyes, there was nothing. He looked lost, forlorn, and distant. He appeared as if only sleep-talking, not quite aware of the rest of the world around him. He had lost something in his eyes; behind his weary smile, she felt only heavy sadness. She felt her face drain, completely thrown off by all the expectations that she had before she had seen him. Sure, she had expected him to be mad or angry with her, silent even... however, seeing him in the way she saw him then... she couldn't have even imagined.

He looked as if he couldn't even sit up straight, and she was certain that he couldn't. She felt a sob rise in the middle of her throat; he could hardly even hold the spit in his mouth, and his eyes seemed to pour over with unintentional tears he was not even aware he was shedding. Yet his smile remained persistent and he shifted forward like a rag doll despite Hermione's horror. "I th-think about you all the time," he offered deliriously.

Hermione felt her own set of tears escape her eyes and she couldn't help it when they managed to roll down the front of her face. "Oh, Draco," she whispered, staring at him at a loss. While she had felt helpless so recently, she had never been prepared to feel the way that she'd felt then. Staring at Draco was something brand new. Drugged and completely out of it, Hermione was certain that any normal conversation was far out of any realistic possibility.

Guilt flooded through her and the room grew hot with intensity. She felt surprised that he had even remembered her at the moment, astounded and even impressed that he had managed to keep his eyes opened even slightly. He did not move his head to shift his hair from his eyes, instead he remained in his rugged position; his shoulders were slumped forward and he remained almost unable to position himself upright. It was all her fault... every bit of it. And she could hardly take looking at him anymore; could hardly manage to keep her view focused on his obviously unaware expression. She sniffed, still watching Malfoy's dazed smile as it only tainted his pale and bruised face.

Something about her finally gave way and her eyes flooded over responsively. Yet Malfoy's face dropped, and his smile faded. "... What's the matter?" he asked her, having just noticed her tears for the first time. He seemed greatly upset by them, and his face twisted, greatly pained by her grief. "Don't cry Hermione," he begged, yet she wondered if he even understood the concept behind her visit in the first place.

"What have they done to you, Draco?" she asked morosely, her voice breaking as she broke out every syllable.

But Draco only shook his head, his blond hair falling across his forehead in a messy manner. "'M okay," he lied, and Hermione could tell. It took him a long while to even react to her sentences. Nonetheless, he did the best that his body would allow him. He furrowed his brows, watching Hermione through the haze that seemed to perplex his vision. "Don't... don't cry, okay?"

Although Hermione could hardly keep herself contained. She copied Malfoy's action, shaking her head thickly with harsh enthusiasm. Even as drugged out as he was, he still found a way to lie to her. "No you're _not_ okay, Draco," she insisted, restraining herself from pounding her fist down on the table completely. "They've completely drugged you!" she gestured to his wrists with her palm, "you... you can't even move your hands!" She felt her voice croak again with frustration and she allowed her hair to fall in front of her own face.

But Draco only seemed to ignore her statement. Instead, he blinked and chewed desperately on his bottom lip. A trail of spit crept from his mouth as he said in a low and miserable whine, "d-don't c-cry, o-okay? I-It makes me s-sad when t-to... seeing you cry makes me sad, 'Mione."

Hermione's face crunched up significantly. She pushed the tears from her cheeks and looked up at the ceiling, feeling herself break down completely. With a sob, she murmured to herself, "fuck..."

She watched as Draco's eyes swept sideways, still appearing to fret over Hermione's blatantly miserable state. He did not seem to notice that his wrists were bound and he did not seem to care that he could hardly keep himself seated properly. Rather, he acted childlike, pouting despite the dripping saliva. His reddened face disheartened her and she found that she couldn't even truly look him in the eyes. "'M ok..." he told her, "really."

"_STOP LYING TO ME!" _Hermione shouted. She couldn't help herself. She was arguing with a man that didn't even know half of the words that were coming out of his mouth. But something about her collective attitude could not remain together. She felt herself slipping, unable to contain sort of collective composure. She hated this Hobb's, hated what they'd done to Draco. Couldn't they see that they had broken him? "Shit!" Hermione swore, burying her face in the palms of her hands, "..._ shit!"_

Feeling a sob rise up in her chest, Hermione slumped her torso forward. She hugged her stomach before slipping her clammy fingers back up to the crown of her head, tugging at the roots of her brown hair. Anxiety tainted her chest and she glanced back upwards as she blinked out the tears from her eyes. Then, she lifted her hand to cover her own mouth. Without moving, Hermione stared back at Draco. His head had not moved, but his eyes had fallen to the center of his lap. She analyzed the red tip of his runny nose and the bruised complexion of his battered face. For a moment, she sat still, covering her mouth, and waiting for a solution to come to her. But she seemed to be all out of ideas, unsurprisingly; such a loss had become quite a trend for her as of lately.

However, the timid sound across from Hermione made her blink back to reality. Sniffing, Draco muttered meekly across the table to her, "... 'M s-sorry..."

And Hermione thought that she couldn't have been more to blame beforehand. However, his misery had only caused her guilt to double. What was she doing getting so frustrated with Draco Malfoy anyway? As drugged and as out of it as he was before he, he truly had not an idea of the words coming out of his mouth; he could barely keep his eyes open for Heaven's sake. Mentally Hermione cursed herself, a bout of her own loathing rising up fitfully in the center of her chest. Yet she managed to break away from her own personal space. Sighing, she slipped away from her seat and crept towards Draco in a tiptoed motion.

Though Draco only flinched as she approached him, glancing downwards with a slightly humiliated expression on his face. She did not yield, however. Instead, she bent down, positioning herself on her knees in front of the metal seat that Draco sat at. He did not avert his eyes. Consequently, he looked up at her with glossy eyes, his face still tormented and twisted. Yet she could clearly see the obvious distress behind his vision, and he looked as if he were about to burst into tears at every passing minute. "Oh, Draco," Hermione said again, considering his solemn visage with certain care. "D-Don't be sorry, okay? T-There's nothing for you to be sorry about, okay? Do you understand that?"

Malfoy did not answer her. Instead he only continued to watch, fascinated by her sad expression. It seemed to torment him, yet Hermione was not certain that he would even remain conscious for much longer. The thought of his assumedly medicated existence made her entire body feel weak and she felt light headed and distraught as she stared in his teary eyes. Standing back analytically, she studied Malfoy's face, before feeling her own visage falter as well. "_I'm _sorry, okay?" she insisted, unable to keep her distance any longer. And she felt herself so swept up in the moment. With that, she leaned forward and grabbed his face with both of her hands.

Breathing in, it felt so good to touch him. She overlooked his freezing cold skin and the bruises that overlapped it. Nonetheless, she was caught up in simply holding him, and she had waited for it for so, so long. "I'm the one who should be sorry, Draco. I'm not sad," she lied to him, for the first time that she could truly remember in a long time. "I'll be okay if you're okay... I promise."

Draco's body slumped forward and for a moment Hermione thought that it had done so as only a reaction to all the medication. However, at second glance she noticed that he had moved his head by will, nuzzling his head into her palms and pressing his eyes shut as he did so. He said with his eyes pressed lightly shut, "p-please d-don't go." He waited for a second before adding back to her, "I don't want to be alone anymore."

And finally Hermione knew that she could no longer contain herself. She felt her eyes pool over, tears rolling down her face conclusively. She sobbed in front of him, breathing in as if she had been held underwater for a long, long time. Nonetheless, she leaned forward and pressed her lips up against his. And though it took him a moment to respond back, she felt her body warm when she felt his lips working back against hers. He did not move quickly, though. Instead, he took hold of her lower lip with his, lingering there before whispering back against her, "I think I've officially lost it, Hermione..."

"No you haven't, Draco," Hermione insisted, pulling back long enough to run her hands through his hair. He looked so sad, so absolutely miserable and she could hardly take the pain of looking back at him. Yet she moved the stay locks of blond hair from his face and placed it behind his ear, revealing more of his visage to her properly. "You're okay, Draco," she said back to him, wiping the stray tears from his eyes, "you're okay- you're just drugged."

But it was Malfoy's turn to shake his head. "I-I-I... I s-see h-him e-everywhere... h-his v-voice in my h-head..." He took a breath, his lips quivering intensely. "H-He's i-in my dreams a-and s-so are you." He looked at her in disbelief, as if she were about to walk away from him at any moment. "You always die in my dreams." Then, with that, he sunk into Hermione's chest, burying his face into her collar. He fell into her as if by accident and she considered the fact that perhaps his body could not take his physical state any longer.

The sound of him crying into her chest made her heart ache miserably. He seemed to be having a trouble with even his own tired breaths. And still she worried that she was loosing him; he seemed to slacken, as if finally loosing consciousness at last. Hermione shut her eyes. "Shh..." she whispered back to him, wrapping her arms around his hunched over back. "It's okay, Draco, I promise that its okay."

"Y-You always die," Malfoy continued, wanting to hold her back despite his inability to do so, "a-and h-h-he a-always kills you... I-I c-can never s-save you," he mumbled, choking on his own fractured speech. "I a-always chose him."

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**Vonne: **This fiction is nearing its end... can you guess you figure out what's going on before everything comes to a final close? ;)


	26. After the Fall

**Vonne: **This is going to be a slightly longer chapter. I definitely wanted to fit a lot into this chapter as it seems we are soon coming to a close... however, there are still things that need to be covered, so definitely stay with me. It is obvious that this is not the end of Draco Malfoy's problems just yet. Nonetheless, as promised, I am going to make my rambling introductions shorter and get to everything else instead. With that being said, then:

**Psychic City: **Oh look at that, for once we're both kind of on top of our game! Go figure, huh! ;)

**Tragic Slytherin: **Thank you so much! I hope you like this chapter as well, definitely a bit of a different direction from the previous chapters... you'll see once you finish. I hope you were at a good loss for words. HAH.

**Fogell: **I'm sorry! I definitely meant for the last chapter to be very sad, but so many people sent me messages informing me how sad they, in fact, were. I hope that that's a good thing, meaning that you've all felt connected with this story one way or another. I definitely hope that you all really enjoy the outcome of this and I promise that I'll make it all worth it. Your comments in reviews make me so happy! Thank you for motivating me, once again!

**OanDuress: **No problem! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter, despite it being a bit more on the sad side. Draco's definitely not in the best place right now, now is he?

**Alice Wednesday: **Oh yay! Long reviews are always my favorite to read. Long reviews get longer responses so, if that's your thing, yay! If you don't even read these, still yay! Because I like when my chapters seem really filled, anyway. ;) I was so flattered by your comments. I'm sure I've told you before that I love it when people enjoy reading things that I write. Writing is such an import thing to me, especially because I plan on publishing something in the very distant future when I actually become more productive and begin to write it down. I think you should write a story, I know I'd read it! Anyway, maybe Draco won't end up in the asylum forever... you're going to have to keep reading to find that one out. ;) I liked your theories about how Harry and Ron are going to try and get Draco's release, for sure. Very clever and definitely a possibility. But, like I said, you're going to have to keep guessing. And don't be sorry, I like your theories- it means I've actually accomplished something by keeping you guessing!

**Voldyismyfather: **Yay! I'm glad that this seems real. Hopefully it does seem at least somewhat realistic- that means I've definitely accomplished my goal. That is actually why it kind of took a while for Hermione and Draco's relationship to develop. Things seeming real is definitely a priority to me!

**WeatherWatch: **I'm sorry! I didn't meant to wrench your heart out. I only just meant to make you a little bit sad, honest! Hopefully this chapter will make up a little bit for it? Or maybe not, depends on how much hope you have for our Draco, doesn't it? :) HAH, Hermione going gung-ho and busting Draco out, huh? Hmm...

Now, finally chapter twenty-five.

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**Chapter Twenty-Five:**  
**After the Fall**

In all the years that Harry Potter had spent believing that there was something wrong with Draco Malfoy, it wasn't until the moment he had taken his seat in front of him that he was absolutely certain.  
However, it took Harry less than a second to see that the boy had been heavily medicated. He spied the blond in his chair, sinking down into himself like a puddle. His unfocused eyes stared at the wall behind his visitor, rather than directly at him, and his face was tinted a bright shade of red, as if he'd had at least the right state of mind to be embarrassed. "Er," Harry asked, pausing in front of the table to consider Malfoy's prediciment, "do you think you're in a right state to have a conversation right now?"

Draco glanced up, looking absolutely miserable. "Potter," he said in a sloppy sort of manner that made his voice crack with unnecessary high pitched tones, "you h-have some authority in this, don't you?" He waited, watching Harry's perplexed expression before motioning down to his bound wrists. "You think you could have talk with the staff for me? T-They err... They make these things too tight." He lifted up his sore hands, wincing as he lifted them up from his lap to show them to Harry.

Harry analyzed Malfoy's wrists. Then he looked at the boy's entire complexion in general. Spit trailed out from the corner of his mouth and dark circles overtook his tired eyes. He looked as if he hadn't slept in days, though Harry strongly doubted that notion; he was certain that the asylum staff prefered their patients to be unconscious, instead. That, or at least overtly medicated. "How much did they give you?" Harry asked, watching Malfoy as if he were about to pass out at any moment.

"Lost count," Draco wetly responded, popping a slight bibble of dripping saliva as he did so.

Harry considered him carefully and he seated himself down with an uneasy notion of sympahty. "I think they might have overdone it," he reassured him.

"... That's good," Draco offerred. Harry lift an eyebrow, confused. However, Draco clarified sadly, "it ...makes e-existing h-here a bit easier, if you catch my drift." Harry's dumbfounded expression doubled. he quickly remembered that Draco was a drunk, and he was surprised to find himself a bit worried for the addict. Perhaps medication was not the best idea for Malfoy, who looked very much like a half-conscious ragdoll. Yet Harry was so consumed in thought that he even jumped when Draco spoke up again. "How's 'Mione?"

Harry inhaled, running a hand through his head of his own greasy black hair. Sighing, he responded morosely, "she's in the same state that she was in with you, I suppose."

As if he had not been certain he had even heard Harry correctly, Malfoy's eyes narrowed slightly. He paused for a moment, staring at the door and then finding his focus back at Harry. "... With me?" He asked, uneasy.

"Yeah," Harry said, looking bacl towards the door over his shoulder. "About..." He stopped, noticing the overwhelming saddness that seemed to double within Draco's stature. Harry clarified, "... abut an hour ago."

"I-I s-s-saw Hermione t-today?" Draco asked, locking eyes with Harry intensely. And Harry froze, analyzing Draco's poor posture and his horrified facial expression. Had he not remembered? A chill traveled up Harry's spine as he considered exactly how much medication he had been given, and exactly where he was at the moment. Sure, Draco Malfoy was seated right there in front of him, but it was blatantly obvious that Draco was, in reality, quite far off from the spot. Thus Harry yielded, blinking back at Draco with a sense of entirely new understanding. He really hadn't remembered?

The silence between the two grew on, making Harry all the more nervous. Yet he leaned forward and let his face drain of color. Sure Draco Malfoy had been a complete prat to him at school, but maybe Hermione was right- she usually was anyway. Maybe Malfoy didn't deserve a life in Hobb's, drugged out and drooling all over himself. Maybe Draco really just wanted his redemption. Maybe he was not the horrible person that Harry had known five years ago, and maybe even the thought of his actions had tortured him. Maybe it had drove him to maddness.

And the idea was not completely a farfetched one. Harry had seen counts of Malfoy's conscience before; Draco hadn't been able to kill Dumbledore, hadn't even been able to look him in the eye when they had been captured at the Manor during the months before the War.

"You don't remember?" Harry asked Malfoy out loud and the boy's morose figure flattened.

"Shit," he murmured to himself, his chest sinking. He leaned forward, ready to burry himself in his hands if such an action were even possible to him. Harry noticed Malfoy's eyes well up, his face turning a brighter shade of burgandy. "Shit."

Harry bent his own face forward, peering at Malfoy with sympathy. He opened his mouth to speak something of slight comfort, but Malfoy cut him off instantly. Shakily, Draco said back to Harry Potter, "... I d-deserve this." He added, "I k-know I d-do... b-but s-sh... she doesn't."

For the hundredth time that evening, Harry scrutinized Draco's visage. His misery and hurt were obvious, his self-loathing even more so, but Harry felt compelled to want to help him out. He knew that Draco's well being was all that Hermione wanted then... but Harry contemplated the fact that maybe he wanted it for the man, too. "Look," Harry found himself saying, ignoring Malfoy and his obvious misery. By the looks of things, Harry knew that he didn't have all day with Draco, who truly looked as if he were going to pass out at any given moment. "I need to know whatever it is you're experiencing. I've... I've gone through it before, I think. I can help you if you'd just help me out here, okay?" For a moment, Malfoy froze. He lifted an eyebrow up at Harry, stalling slightly. His red face fell and, curious, he titled his head to consider Harry Potter before him. The Boy-Who-Lived breathed out, looking exhausted and fairly tired with the game of simply going back and forth. "Just trust me..."

Draco lifted his bound wrists. Despite the fact that they had been stuck forcefully together, he placed his elbows on the table and stared lifelessly into his open palms. Then he slumped forward, still overtly embarrassed by Harry's presence, and asked meekly, "what do you want to know?"

Harry studied the kid across from him. Never in his life did he think that he would ever feel sorry for Draco Malfoy. Years ago, Harry would have loved to see Malfoy in the exact same position that he had been in right then. Years ago, he would have relished in it. But it was so much more different then. As he brought down his own head and spied at Draco through the tops of his glasses, he felt a slight twinge in his throat when he asked curiously, "does it hurt?"

Malfoy glanced up minutely. A sad smile passed over his lips and he looked as if he were about to burst into tears. Instead, however, he only said out loud, "isn't it obvious?"

"Where?" Harry demanded flatly, his eyes searching Malfoy's torso. He watched the boy as if he had missed something, careful to pry at him, hoping to spot whatever it was that he had perhaps possibly overlooked.

Yet Draco's glossy eyes narrowed, his face paling. He was lost. Not entirely sure as to where Harry was getting at, he looked immensely delirious as he leaned closer towards the table. "What...?"

"Where does it hurt?"

Draco's torso slipped backwards, yet Harry's face had not fell. Behind his spectacles, Harry's face was stoney and determined. He wore the look of someone unbreakable, completely beyond reform. And Malfoy considered for a moment the circumstance. There he was, helpless in front of the boy he had grown up loathing. But Harry Potter was his only hope- without him, he would never breathe in fresh air, would never see Hermione again. Without Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy knew that his existence would be a very grave one. And he knew more than anything that he needed to tell him the truth. Yet he could not place his finger on why it was so difficult for him to spit out. With Harry so intently waiting on his next answer, Draco shifted his gaze and toured the room with his eyes for a fraction of a second. He could feel the overwhelming heat of humiliation creep up on him and, like a child, he wished that he could crawl back to his room at the Manor and hide under the covers. But Draco had done enough running. He'd done enough hiding and enough giving up. Giving in to Harry Potter would not just be good for him, but it would be good for Hermione as well, too.

Still, he returned his focus back to Harry with a slightly perplexed expression. Where had it hurt? Perhaps a better question would have been: where _hadn't _it hurt? Everything about Draco's body pained him. His head throbbed, his torso ached. He couldn't see straight and he couldn't think clearly. The bitter realization that perhaps it was not the drugs that had been making him feel so ill made his misery triple. Though still, despite the blatant torment that he suffered, he knew that revealing the severity of his illness to Harry was far more important than his pride.

"My head," Malfoy decisively responded, feeling the overpowering sway of nausea the very moment that he'd spoke out loud again. Harry seemed to notice Malfoy's change in expression, as well, and his face dropped with the realization of the boy's current state.

Thus he spoke in a hurry, using his rushed voice to try and hold the attention of the faltering Malfoy. "When you see him," Harry asked, gripping the edge of the table for support. He watched Malfoy sink further in towards the table, bringing his chest closer to his waist as if he intended to hug himself. Malfoy lifted his hands to his hair and seemed to tug on the very roots. Feeling sick, he swallowed a massive lump in the sore pit of his throat. "When you see him," Harry restated forcefully, trying to remain presentably calm for Malfoy's sake, "does your head hurt?"

The bobbing of the blond's skull clarified Harry's inquiry. "And my chest," said the boy, sounding more and more as if he were talking through his sleep. The feel in his heart had begun to take its toll on him and, quite frankly, he was beginning to wonder if he had truly possessed one at all.

Harry blinked, trying to physically rid himself of any distractions. He darted about the dark room wildly with his eyes. "What do you see what you see him, Malfoy?" Harry asked, his voice breaking. Yet his intent had grown more hastily and his hurry had become blatantly obvious. He seemed to have realized the severity of Malfoy's situation; he spoke firmly as if he really did not have much time to fix his broken soul at all.

But Malfoy's breaths had become more faint and Harry was certain the he could make out several little sobs as they emitted from the boy's, muffled embarrassed into his lap. However, Harry ignored Malfoy's currently hysterical status. The more information that he could collect, the better. And though Draco seemed to be breaking apart between his very eyes, Harry continued on, leaning in towards the table as close as he possibly could manage himself. When he found that he was in ear's distance with Draco, Harry pressed forward, his own face brimming with sweat. "When you have nightmares at night," Harry asked again, "what are you dreaming about?"

Draco could feel the intense effects of the medication finally taking a hold of him. He felt that he could no longer resist. Even from the hazy vision that he saw in the form of a blur in his lap, he had to press his teary eyes shut in order to escape the risk of falling unconscious at the very moment. "S-S-she d-d-dies," he admitted again to Harry, though he had not truly remembered revealing the contents of his nightmares to Hermione only one hour before. "S-She dies and I-I don't help her when I have every chance to..."

His hands shook and he hugged his knees, feeling the sharp twist of his wrists as they remained bound together. "What else?" he heard Harry ask, and he squeezed himself closer as he felt a second bout of horrible tension crush his throbbing temples.

"... A-Albus D-D-Dumbledore," Draco coughed, wincing from the pain that had found its way through his stomach, and Harry froze. His fingers lost their harsh grip on the edge of the table and he found that he could not speak again; instead he could only listen. But Draco had already stared and he'd decided that he really had no intent of turning back. Flushed and writhing with pain, he curled himself deeper into the awful structure that had become almost a ball. He lifted his aching legs to the edge of the chair and nuzzled his face down into his knees, keeping his eyes pressed shut. He had no chance to look up at Harry, even though he had been avoiding it at all costs anyway. Instead, he remained more focus on the darkness behind his bruised eyelids. Like a chipped record, his voice broke with every name he guiltily listed off. "T-Tonks a-and Mad-Eye... P-P-Professor Lupin."

Draco brought his knees up higher, ignoring Harry as he tried to helpfully interject. Rather, he continued on rambling, gaining speed as if spitting out the names would finally soothe his tortured soul- as if he had been hiding them away for far, far too long. "... F-Fred W-Weasley," he mumbled with a choked out little stutter. His hands searched the crown on his head, cradling the back of his blond skull for dear life. He was heavily medicated and miserable. Even if he had wanted to stop crying, he wasn't sure that he could have. But something about the realization of how pathetic he had become had hit him like a ton of bricks. Even despite his fogged up mind and his fucked up head, he knew that he was loosing it.

"Malfoy," Harry tried, awkwardly, but the boy only shook his head, running his sweaty forehead across the sterile white trousers that the asylum staff had given him since day one. He was twenty-something years old and he'd officially gone off the deep end. He'd assisted in the murder of far too many innocent people. Every day of his life, no matter how healthy his brain could become, he would always have to live with the sheer guilt of it all.

As a new sore sob sounded out from Malfoy's throat, he coughed, and blinked out the rest of the tears that stung his beat red eyes. "Fucking _D-Dobby..."_

_"_Malfoy, stop," Harry said, after the silence between the two of them had gone on long enough. But Draco remained unmoving. With his head against his knees, he only grabbed on to himself harder, seemingly having drifted off into a place far beyond Harry's reach. "You don't have to..." he finished, trailing off strangely as he lifted his hand to rub at his opposite forearm.

"I do have to!" Malfoy stated, lifting his head for a moment to stare at Harry from behind his knees. He finally let them drop, touching his bare feet to the cold floor and stumbling up from the seat. "I h-have t-to live with that e-everyday of m-my life." He was standing despite himself, his chest rising and falling. A look of pure terror had washed over his tear stained face and he looked perhaps even more ill than he had only several moments ago. "T-They're a-all d-dead b-because of _me_," he spat, looking more disgusted with his own image. But then his furious face crumbled, and once again he looked as if he could barely contain his own sanity. "I was so _stupid!"_

Harry faltered. At the age of twenty-three, he had done some much needed growing up over the years since the War. And though he'd still held his grudges, he could see that Draco's current state did not deserve any. Thus he remained still. When years ago he would have taken the chance to throw Malfoy's own words back into his face, he found that he could not quite bring himself to do it. Instead, he shook his head, feeling odd at the extreme onset of sympathy that he felt for his depressed ex-classmate. "It was a crazy time-" he started, but Draco's twisted expression cut him off.

"That's bullshit!" he hissed, looking as if he were about to loose his balance on the floor. "You and Ron didn't loose your bloody minds... H-Hermione didn't."

Harry opened his mouth, but then only slunk downwards, his entire body deflating. It had obvious taken a lot for Malfoy to raise himself from his seat, though he had not expected to see him so heated. "Look," Harry said finally, his voice falsely calm. He couldn't, however, hide the blatant shaking, "trying to change the past is... impossible. You should focus more on the future... perhaps when you can think more clearly."

"I'm crazy, Potter, not _bloody_ naive," Malfoy hissed, and Harry had to give it to him- Draco certainly had a good point.

Harry sighed, running his palm across the front of his own sweaty face timidly. "Either way, Hermione's determined to get you out of here." He stalled, saying carefully, "since you've forgotten, I wanted to tell you that." The harsh look on Malfoy's face melted. Defeated, his shoulders swooped downward and he analyzed the floor under his bare feet, sheepishly. When he looked back up at Harry again, his eyes have reverted back. He held the same watery-eyed grimace that he had carried before. Despite his badly bruised eye, Harry could see that he was beginning to loose himself all over again.

Nonetheless, Harry continued. "She's err... she's really stuck on you."

Draco chewed on his lower lip, processing the information as if it were all very new to him. Really, however, he had been floored whenever he came to think of Hermione and the affections that she had for him. He found it impossible that she'd cared for him as much as she did, found it almost completely and utterly impossible. After all the stress that he had put her through... after all the unneeded and undeserved pain... yet she'd still seemed to care for him. After all this time, she'd kept on coming back.

"Yeah, well," Draco sniffed, blinking out fresh tears from his eyes. He lost the battle and they pooled over, dribbling down his pink cheeks instead. "I dunno know why she is."

For the last time he looked back up at Harry. Though his expression was defeated, his eyes held the look of being grateful, as if silently signaling to Harry that he had appreciated his visit. Though it had not truly helped Malfoy's situation yet, his last comments on Hermione had truly made Malfoy rethink the boy's appearance entirely. And for the first time in twenty-two long years, the two found that they understood each other.

* * *

When Harry Potter broke through the front door of Hobb's Institute, Hermione was certain that she could see a slight sparkle in his eye that she had not noticed before. It was a twinkle that she had not seen for several weeks, a gentle glistening that she had to pay close attention to- one that she could have perhaps missed if she had not been paying attention. However, she remained put at the benches outside Hobb's, her brow lifted, and watched him approach as she heard Ron shuffle readily at her side. Though his silence had shown her that he had not noticed it, and for a brief moment Hermione herself had thought that she had gone absolutely crazy. Thus, when Harry's figure grew finally closer, Hermione knew she could not quite contain herself any longer.

But Harry whisked past the two on the bench, his eyes set out along the road that led back into the city, closer even to the Ministry itself. Darting up her things, Hermione piled her bag into his hands and looped the strap responsively around her shoulders. She exchanged lost glances with Ron and picked up her pace whole-heartedly, following Harry at his heels like a small puppy. "Harry..." she started off, feeling slightly faint, "Harry, what's going on?"

Harry's response came quickly, though Hermione was not sure that she had even heard him correctly. He did not seem to notice, however, as he kept his eyes attentively on the road ahead of him, his fingers flying into his pocket to retrieve his wand and hold it by his hips as if ready to release a threat. Hermione's pace had stopped completely. She was barely certain of herself, barely sure that she had been thinking clearly when Harry had announced out loud, "Malfoy's not crazy."

Then Harry seemed to catch on to Hermione's halted pace. He whirled around, glancing over his shoulder for her before finally stopping along with her. His eyes found her through the lens of his glasses, staring at her perplexed face and watching it redden with the set of oncoming tears. "Hermione," Harry said, barely able to contain himself, "we've got to get to the Ministry; Malfoy's not crazy and I can prove it."

"H-He's..." Hermione stammered, almost completely unable to finish her entire sentence. Her fingers clutched her things to her chest and she looked almost severely ill as she stumbled verbally. "He's alright?" A shift in the atmosphere seemed to keep her rooted there and, despite herself, she found that she could not move. Had her head been fuzzy? Had she been dreaming? In the single short hour that Harry Potter had spent in the visitation room with Draco Malfoy, had he really seen something that she had overlooked?

Yet her answer seemed to be clarified by the gentle nod of Harry's head. Ron, on the other hand, seemed to be just as perplexed as Hermione. Still, Harry inched forward, forgetting about the road and the Ministry for a moment. His face softened and he looked almost winded, completely pleased with himself as if he hadn't even believed it either. "I can't believe I had even missed it before," he said, looking gentle as he continued to approach her, extending his hand and taking her shoulders timidly. He nodded to comfort her as he said, "Hermione, Malfoy's going to be okay."

On impact, Hermione's face crumbled. She couldn't hold it in any longer; despite herself, she choked, sobbing uncontrollably until she came in sudden contact with Harry's chest. She lifted her arms and wrapped them around him in a tight embrace, burying her face into him as her shoulders bobbed with every tear. And she felt immense love for him when she felt him extend his arms around her, as well, holding her carefully as if she were about to break. But it did not stop Hermione from squeezing the very life out of him. Instead she pulled him closer, mumbling her gracious thanks into his collarbone before pressing back and staring back into his lovely green eyes.

When Harry looked down on her, he could sense that the large weight had been lifted from off her shoulders. Though her expression was still weary, she appeared lighter and far more trusting. At the corner of the dirt road, Ron seemed all the more lost, however. Shoulders dropping, he rubbed his head and glanced back at the small view of Hobb's in the distance. It looked spooky as dusk began to set in and the sun crept behind the large hills at its posterior. "He's not?" Ron asked finally finding Harry and Hermione again.

"No," Harry shook his head, however he remained looking at Hermione and finally a smile crept onto his face. "I... I don't know how I missed it before, Hermione! I should have seen it and I didn't... I'm sorry."

Hermione blinked, "no," she said, swallowing, "don't be." She then dropped her hands, wiping her face clean with the palms of her hands.

But Harry seemed all the more intent on reaching the Ministry. "Okay," he nodded happily, placing his hand gently under Hermione's chin. "But we've got to get going."

Nonetheless, Hermione's face twisted. "Wait!" she called out and Harry glanced back down at her. She still remained true to the same uneasy expression that he had seen her with beforehand. Nothing on her face seemed convinced. "Harry," she stared, looking at Ron and then back at Harry again, "... how are you certain?"

Harry inhaled, watching the sun sink slowly behind the mountains that stretched out beyond them. However, his hurry to report his findings to the Ministry could wait- Harry could not take any longer of Hermione's miserable expression. "The visions, Hermione," he clarified, regaining his sense of pride. "Malfoy's been seeing Voldemort... he's been talking to him!"

Ron's face twisted, confused, "err... Harry, mate... that sounds a bit, uh, nutty to me."

Though Harry only shook his head, his visage still illuminated by the joy that he felt inside his chest. He would never have to see Hermione so miserable again, and he was just so grateful for his friend. "No," he laughed, pushing his shaggy brown hair from his eyes and fixing it behind his ears, "he's been feeling it, too- he _feels_ it." With that, he motioned to his chest, touching his sternum with the palm of his hand and then gesturing to the crown on his skull. "He's not crazy... he's sick! He's been cursed!"

"Cursed?" Hermione and Ron echoed at the same time, their gaze locked securely within Harry's.

"By Voldemort! By Bellatrix even, possibly." Harry was rambling, his focus still with Hermione's, waiting to finally see her smile. "By everyone in that house!" Red in the face, he couldn't keep himself from smiling, though he couldn't believe how long it had taken for him to figure it out.

"But," Hermione stated, shaking her head back and forth slowly, "they're all dead."

Harry Potter shook his head for the last time, gesturing towards his chest again briefly. "They made a... a mark," he stated, trying to make himself clear. "I heard him... Malfoy said when he dreams, he dreams of death, of all the people that he's killed... the people that he _thinks_ he's helped kill."

"And?" Ron asked, still slightly hazy despite Harry's aim to clarify.

"And," Harry breathed, looking positively gleeful. He couldn't wait for it, couldn't wait to see Hermione's smile again. "And it doesn't matter, Ron. Whatever they did to Draco, its lasted much longer than Voldemort's death. It's different with me," Harry continued, gesturing to his scar, "this isn't a Hrocrux, Hermione, its been _imprinted._ Whatever happened to Draco at that house, Voldemort cursed Malfoy with the intent of torturing his head for the rest of his life, whether or not the Death Eaters won the War."

Ron remained standing still, his face drained of any color left. He glanced back towards Hobb's, feeling slightly winded when he asked out loud, "but why Malfoy? Why not Goyle or Lucius, even?"

"Dumbledore!" Harry beamed, looking fantastically pleased with himself. He neared towards Hermione again, feeling his cheeks grow hot unwillingly. "Malfoy couldn't kill Albus Dumbledore... and when the Death Eaters captured us, he couldn't even look us in the eye. Whatever happened, one this is certain- Voldemort broke Malfoy. There's no way that he would have let Malfoy get away with such heavy mistakes!"

When he'd finished, he let his chest bob up and down, his eyes scanning Hermione for a long while. Though she looked as if she couldn't believe it; her attention fell to the ground, responsively mulling the dirt below her feet over with every passing minute. But Harry was certain, he had never been more certain about anything since the War had ended. It was something that he could just tell about Draco Malfoy- and he could tell because he knew. He, Harry, had faced the same sort of problems, had overcome the same type of issues. And though Draco had not been one of Voldemort's seven Horcrux's, he certainly had been an easy prey for the Dark Lord during the whole ordeal.

He could see it in Draco Malfoy, could sense it in the boy's sad expression and in his eyes. And though the realization had not come to him until the moment that he'd left Malfoy's visitation room, Harry remained completely certain. "Hermione," Harry whispered over the long bit of silence, "I'm sure about this."

And then finally, Harry saw Hermione glance back up at him. Though her face was stained with tears and her cheeks were tinted an bright shade of pink, she was biting her lower lip and smiling. Through the tears that ran down her face, she still looked absolutely radiant as he trustingly smiled back up at him, a new yet happy sob emitting from her chest again. Then, for the second time, Hermione Granger leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Harry Potter, one of her two very best friends in the entire universe. Adoringly, she buried her face into his chest, her own body filled with the unfamiliar notion that perhaps, finally, there was hope.

* * *

Lazarus Patel was sitting at his desk in the dark, squinting at the interior of his office room. He had only just finished organizing his papers and re-stacking his belongings. Thus, despite everything else, his hard day at the office had finally come to a close. Admittedly, Patel could not help but feel a exhausted as he leaned up from his large desk chair and pulled away from the surface of his table top, prepared to end the day.

With a concluding sigh he pulled off his gray business jacket, tossing it over his shoulder and cradling it near his wand, which rest flimsily between his finger tips. Then he scuttled across the carpet, moving away from the horrible work desk that did nothing but remind him that there would always be far more papers to sign tomorrow. Yet he felt slightly pleasure in knowing that he had, at least, finished the current day's work. Finally he could go home and relax...

_Bang. Bang. Bang. _

Freezing at his spot in the center of his office room, Patel stopped and yield, caught in the midsts of unbuttoning the first silver-blue button of his fancy vest. He was certain that he'd heard it, the loud knocking sound that had rattled his entire room, bouncing off the walls straight into his ear drums. However, he remained stilly quiet, waiting for the response that came far more quickly than he had expected. _"_Lazarus Patel! Please," said the anxious voice at the other end, "we need to talk to you!"

And so the working man wasted to time. Drawing out his wand, he approached the front door carefully before pulling it open and extending out his wand as a warning sign. However, his arm fell when he noticed the messy-haired boy in glasses, his freckle-faced friend, and Hermione Granger standing in the center of the doorframe.

"I'm very sorry, you lot," Lazarus explained, having already dealt with far too much over the course of the day. Even Gregory Goyle had dropped in, for a third time, in hopes of trying to coax him into simply permitting Draco Malfoy's release from Hobb's Institute. He did not need to be bothered with the situation again, especially when he had made himself perfectly clear, and especially when he had every intent on crawling into bed. "But my office is closed now." His face fell and with a lack of enthusiasm, he said, "I'm going home."

However, Harry Potter stepped out bravely to block his path and Patel noticed something rather prideful about the expression he wore on his face. "It'll only take ten minutes." Lazarus opened his mouth, ready to shove Harry Potter and Ron Weasley out of his way. However, the sight of Hermione standing at their side made him stop to reconsider. Deflating, Lazarus' face melted into a rather defeated frown. He did not say a single word, yet despite himself he stepped backwards. With a quick fling of his tired arm, he gestured the three back into his office and shut the door behind them.

"Draco Malfoy," Harry started, and Patel instant held up his beefy arm to stop him.

"I thought I made myself profoundly clear," he stated wearily, ready to lean back over to the door and whisk it back open with full force.

"You did," Harry continued, his eyes still glistening profoundly, "but you missed something, and so did I."

"Missed-" Lazarus asked, raising an eyebrow, and Harry nodded quickly.

Instead he made his way towards Lazarus, Hermione in the background. Her face was red, but her eyes were gleeful. Despite herself, she seemed to have put all her trust into whatever theory Harry was about to spit out and Patel had almost forgot to look back at Harry again to hear him talk. "He's been cursed. Draco Malfoy isn't crazy." There was an expression of sheer seriousness marked on Harry's face, his demeanor strong and unbreakable. "I can prove it."

* * *

**Vonne: **Hm, it's been a while since I've ended on a high note...


	27. Trial and Error

**Vonne: **Thank you for all the fast reviews over the last chapter. It ended on a happy note, and this one ends... a bit differently! I'm in quite a hurry, but I promise that I will answer all of your questions in the next update- which hopefully will be very soon. Please do no hesitate to leave me questions or comments. I would love to answer you all personally and help you with understanding anything. I'm usually very on top of things in regards to your questions!

But, because I cannot personally get to all of you tonight, I would like to mention how grateful I am to those who reviewed! Thank you: **Doni, voldyismyfather, LivelyMcBrigten, MCLanna, LECandeh, Psychic City, Tragic Slytherin, OanDuress, Alice Wednesday, pearlrose33, **and **WeatherWatch**! I got up to eleven reviews on the last chapter alone and that does not even count the additional reviews I got from the previous chapters this week. Thank you all so much!

I promise to update this as soon as possible...

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* * *

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**Chapter Twenty-Six**  
**Trial and Error**

_One week later..._

Though Draco Malfoy was certain that he should be grateful, he could not help but be very concerned about the sudden trial that had been set up by Harry Potter and Ron Weasley at what seemed to be rather last minute. Of course, in the beginning he had not known. Without warning at all, he had been pulled from the covers at night by a pair of chilly hands that shoved him across the room and muttered something about picking up his belongings. And he allowed them to lead him, barefoot and uniformed, across the hall with a stumbling pace. They shoved him down the dark path of the asylum hallway, whispering as they unbound his wrists and directed him through his overdosed haze. When finally, however, he saw the figures of his mother and father in the distance in front of him; only then did the reality of his situation truly hit him.

"Mum?" It was the first time he had truly heard himself speak, though he could not mistake his own mumbling for what was truly a rather pathetic drool. Yet the expression on his mother's face had not shifted. She seemed joyful despite his condition, however blatant he was sure that it had been to her. Instead she lifted her hands to her face, covering her lips with her palms and blinking out the falling tears from her eyes. She had never looked more relieved in her entire life.

When she spoke back to him, Draco heard her tone echo all around the halls of the place. "Oh, Draco!" Then she stepped slightly ahead of her husband, who remained concerned and still, her hands outstretched. "How we've missed you!" She paid no attention to the pressed suit she'd been carrying for him in her arms. Instead she seemed all the more focused on her child, her only child, who she had not seen in a matter of months... who she was certain would die alone in the confines of the ward for the criminally insane.

And though Malfoy remained clueless about the situation, he stumbled forward. To his surprise, his escorts had not followed after him; instead they had let him go to Narcissa without a word. So he took his chance, staggering towards his mother and burying his face in her chest like a child. He remained there momentarily, allowing his headache to soothe itself within her body, and he felt the warmth of her hands as they smoothed along his back and comforted him gently. "They've got you a trial," she said after a while, shifting her weight and rocking him back and forth as a harsh sob rose up in his chest. "Draco, the Ministry... they've given you a chance at a trial."

But Draco could barely remember anything about the Ministry, could barely grasp the severity of his opportunity. His focus revolved around his mother and finally seeing her. She was not an illusion or a hallucination, but a true presence that he could hold within his grasp- and one that could hold him in return. Thus he remained there, buried within her, crying tearfully into her chest, and allowing the shift of the outside world to take place around him without fully understanding a fraction of it. Still, the world in the asylum continued and the two uniformed guards exchanged muffled words with his father. Malfoy heard them mutter, "one trial, one session," and was surprised to find that his father submissively agreed, without much argument otherwise. "Draco Malfoy is to return here directly after the trial, either way... to pick up his things and return home, or-"

"That won't be necessary," Malfoy heard his father say, holding his hand up firmly to stop the men in front of him from speaking. His look remained strong, a rather steady expression etched on his face. Draco Malfoy was not convinced, however; rather, he could see through Lucius' thick facade, despite his father's own personal determination to help his son. Yet Malfoy remained quiet, still clutching his mother and allowing her to rub his back in a timid circle. When Lucius Malfoy spoke again, his voice was unyielding and unbreakable. He used the tone of voice that Malfoy had not heard him use in years, the very same tone of voice that demanded seriousness and vast attention. "My son will not be returning here."

Silence gripped the hallway and neither of the asylum workers said a word. Instead, they only nodded, almost too bitter about Malfoy's temporary release from Hobb's in the first place. "In due time," one murmured under his breath, yet they turned on their heels, pacing away from the Malfoy family in unison before shutting the massive institution doors behind them. Malfoy felt his mother's hand rise up to his hair, stroking it in a loving and meek manor that kept him rooted towards her with helpless intensity. He did not look up when he heard the doors posterior to him reopen. When he heard the sound of advancing footsteps, however, his mother's grip on him tightened.

"This way," said the new voice, one that Draco instantly recognized as Dr. Bowen, the therapist he had been given over the course of his lengthy stay at Hobb's. He glanced momentarily at his patient, eyeing him lifelessly as he strode ahead of both Narcissa and Lucius. However, Lucius followed after him, giving his wife the notion to do the same. Thus Narcissa lowered her hands from her son, wrapping them around his shoulders and hugging his wobbly body close as she turned towards the main entrance of the asylum building. She only supported her unstable son, allowing his body to lean against her heavily as if he were about to pass out on the floor below her. And in turn Draco used her as a support, his head bent low against her shoulder, his dizzy eyes struggling to even remain opened.

"Oh, Draco..." she whispered as they continued down the long walk of the corridor, "you're going to be okay now. You're never going to come back here, I promise." When Malfoy lost his footing, her fingers tightened, helping him back up to his feet so that he could use her for support. He could barely lift up his arms, so sore and weak from months spent without truly using them, and he felt only severely heavy, as his throbbing head rooted itself into her shoulder without much apology.

However, when they finally made it through the asylum doors, Malfoy felt fresh air for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. "We will be in touch," Dr. Bowen said stiffly, glancing back at Lucius before passing his gaze over to Malfoy for the last time. Then, with that, he retreated. Though Malfoy did not watch him go, Dr. Bowen made his way back through the heavily guarded gates of the asylum and each of them locked magically behind him. After a short while, the man was gone, having strode back into the building and vanished completely from sight.

"Draco," mused Narcissa, burying her face into her son's blond head of messy and greasy hair. "I've... missed you." Her arms responsively pulled him into a hug and the family of three did not move from the long dirt path that winded away from Hobb's. In the darkness of the night, Draco only let his mother lean into him, in turn leaning into her with his upper body, for he could not truly support anything else.

"He's drugged." Lucius Malfoy eyed his son for a second, allowing a slight moment to pass for his wife to squeeze him up in a tight embrace. "Narcissa, they've drugged him." The blonde woman looked up, peering from the top of her son's head to get a better look at her husband. Her face melted, giving Lucius a scolding glance as if she had not wished for him to have said such a thing out loud while Malfoy was in risk of hearing it. Yet Lucius Malfoy remained steady, his complexion fixated with disgust that was not aimed at his son, but at the Hobb's Institution itself. "No," repeated Lucius, who had appeared quite ragged with worry himself. His hair was shaggy and unkempt and he looked to have dressed himself in haste. "Is that what they do to their patients?" he roared, gesturing towards Malfoy with the base of his hand. "They just _drug_ them to solve their problems?"

Narcissa's visage broke. Her fingers ran gently through Draco's hair, but her tone was sharp and stern. "Lucius!"

However, Draco took the chance. No longer feeling inferior in the daunting presence of the guards, he pulled away from his mother. He looked towards his father solemnly, tears staining his face. He had no make up from Pansy to cover up the bruises that marked him all over. Instead, he made no real attempt to hide himself. "No, dad... 'm... fine," he lied, offering a smile to Lucius whose face seemed to crumble with the passing moments.

The face of Lucius Malfoy blatantly showed his grief. The loss of his son seemed to have driven him insane over the past several weeks, yet he could not quite help himself. After a moment of moroseness, he fixed his expression and pressed his eyes shut with seriousness. "Draco, you will _not_ lie to me!" he stated, and Malfoy's shoulders dropped. "If this is going to work, you cannot keep _lying." _

"Dad," Malfoy began, taking a step forward. He was surprised to find that he maintained the ability to stand without his mother's body support. "I haven't been-"

Lucius cut him off without a second thought. His face became stoney, and only the sounds of the night took place around them. "Hermione Granger?" he asked, though his tone of voice did not truly carry a question. At the sight of his son's falling expression, Lucius was certain that he had hit the nail on the head. There was no getting around this one- he could see it in his son's eyes. Sure, Draco could lie to him about his state of capability under the influence of drugs, but Lucius Malfoy had known that the issue was much further than that. "Tell me, Draco, why would I get called to the Ministry one week ago to have a talk involving the details of your case with Lazarus Patel, hm?"

"I d-d-don't..."

"Tell me," Lucius insisted, stepping forward slight. His eyes burned with distrust and hurt, disappointed with his son for hiding Hermione from him for such a long time. "Tell me," he repeated vigorously, "why Hermione Granger was said to have been a great influence on the man's decision to grant you permission to a court case!"

Malfoy stood, stunned. Even though he could not truly think clearly, he had certainly grasped the current situation at hand. His mother said not a word, only stood in silence watching her son, her expression soft, but she too had been waiting patiently for his answer. Yet the intensity behind his father's gaze came as unmistakable to him. Lucius' eyes were flooded with hurt, despair that his only son had been keeping such a secret from him for what had seemed to be an eternity. "... S-S-She..." Draco started before he found himself choke on his own words. "... T-There w-w-was t-this r-r-radio..." yet once again he only managed to trail off, unable to finish explaining himself before breaking down completely.

He was long past relying on the disfunction of drugs to help him through the situation. As foggy as he felt, he knew that there was absolutely no getting out of speaking with his father. Although the situation proved to be far more difficult that he had anticipated- not that he had ever thought this far ahead about the circumstances before. Sure, his father had loathed Hermione Granger, but Draco was not changing his mind. Instead, as he stood uneasily before Lucius, he said only, "H-H-Hermione g-got me a c-court case?"

What had happened over the course of his time at Hobb's? How hard had Hermione truly been working to break him free from the asylum? At the realization that she had never given up, Draco felt an overwhelming attachment towards her. His longing to see her again made it almost hard for him to bear, and he felt a new onset of tears plague his sore throat on impact. Hermione Granger had not left him at Hobb's to rot; she had not forgotten him...

"How long?" Lucius asked his son, ignoring him stubbornly.

Draco bit his lower lip, "a-about a-a y-year," he said honestly; because what was the use in lying anymore? It had never gotten him anywhere. Perhaps Hermione and his father were right. Perhaps he'd needed to drop his pride and inhibitions. "It w-was an a-accident."

"Lucius," interjected Narcissa, stepping slightly forwards to close the gap between her and her son. "Please, we should not discuss this right now. Draco, he's not feeling well."

Yet despite Narcissa's meek pleas, Lucius continued to inquire. His expression did not shift. At his sides, his fingers curled up into fists, yet the look of sincere pain was still very true in his face. "And what do you think of this girl?" he asked Draco, frowning. And when the silence passed between the three of them, Lucius seemed to know. But Malfoy had frozen, caught up in the harsh decision of deciding whether or not to admit to everything. Did he tell his father that he was in love with her? The notion had even taken himself a long time to get used to and he could only imagine the impact that it would have on his father. However, the look in Lucius' eyes made Malfoy's chest fall. He just could not lie to him anymore.

"I-I'm i-in love with her," Draco breathed, looking down and feeling himself loose consciousness. The drugs had finally begun to take their affect.

Lucius' eyes fell, his face dropping slightly. His fists unclenched and he blinked, watching Draco as his own face twisted. For a second, he looked as if he were about to topple over himself, however, he remained still when Malfoy stumbled forward, saying deliriously, "d-dad, 'm s-s-so s-sorry."

He remained staring at the dirt path before him, trying to remain still as the sway of nausea overtook him. He felt the rise of bile within himself, felt weary as it made him totter ever so slightly. He did not remain conscious in time to see his father or mother react. Thus, he lost his footing, his knees shrinking in and his eyes rolling back in his head.

Narcissa screamed. Yet Lucius Malfoy was ready; he stumbled forward on his own, arms reached out to catch Malfoy clumsily, despite his son's revealing secret, and held him before he shrunk to the ground.

For a moment, Lucius Malfoy stood unmoving. He had only just managed to catch Draco and he resided staring perplexed down into Malfoy's battered face. His eyes scanned the vision of his son, so torn up and beaten down over the last five years of his life. And Lucius knew that he really did not have anyone else to blame- he had invited Draco to the world of the Death Eaters, he had lead him down the path that had ultimately crushed him. Draco was now only a shell, a cold reminder of what he could have been. He was dealt the wrong cards, a man turned in the wrong direction by means of his father who, perhaps, lacked any real morals and values at all.

Though over the course of five years, something had seemed to dawn on the oldest Malfoy man. He had come to loose everything after having gained it all. Sure, he still possessed his beautiful house and his beautiful wife, but he had in turn lost the respect of his family name... in turn, he had lost a son. And though he truly had loathed Harry Potter and everything he stood for, five years had given Lucius the chance to consider why.

He thought back to the night of the War, after it had ended and after he and Narcissa had found their son. He recalled the way the three of them sat, huddled up close to one another in Draco's school, ashamed, yet relieved to have remained among the living. The Wizarding World that they had hated had helped them avoid prison time in Azkaban. And even Arthur Weasley had been rather good to them. Thus, five years had taught Lucius Malfoy to truly consider his blessings. Though he had not truly deserved them, he was grateful to have even been given the chance at a new life.

Lucius' arms pulled Draco up, though he hit the ground with his own knees, wide-eyed and considering his son as he knelt there, supporting him only inches from the ground under all that dim moonlight. He only minutely heard the footsteps of his wife approach him, advancing in a hurry the very moment that she had seen her son falling. "Lucius," she breathed, out of air completely, "is he alright?"

"I don't know," Lucius said, still taking time to absorb the image of his son, so lifeless there before him. He looked dead, and limp, as if he were not breathing.

His self worth had been lost, but he would not stand to loose his son.

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When the Malfoy's finally managed to get their son around, they had shoved the bundle of dress clothes in his hands, locked eyes with him intently, and clarified sternly for him to tell the truth. It was an odd gesture coming from the two most infamous liars, but Draco did not have time to even notice their hypocrisy. Instead, he'd had himself dressed within the minute, sitting in the confines of the waiting room of the Ministry's trial court with a rather large lump in his throat.

He had long been passed the effects of the drugs he had been given within Hobb's and, at least, he was able to think clearly. From overhearing conversations between his mother and his father, he had soon caught on to the fact that there had been a second chance for him. The Ministry had agreed to give him a trial, which had been put together by Hermione, Harry, and Ron as a threesome. Lucius had remained perplexed about the situation, nonetheless. While he remained attentive and watchful towards his son, he couldn't help but stay perplexed. But Draco did not have much time to try and defend himself. Before he'd known it, he'd been gestured into the waiting room, dressed in his suit, and placed on the wooden benches between his silent father and his pale-faced mother.

Two hours flew by and the Malfoy's sat in distinct silence, though every once in a while Narcissa would reach over and pat her son's hand supportively. She did not seem to dwell so much on Malfoy's interest for Hermione Granger outwardly, yet Draco was intelligent enough to know that she'd been thinking about it the entire time. Still, he remained focused with his lap, feeling uneasy as he stared into the depths of it before moving strangely to the ground to analyze the glistening surface of his polished shoes. They'd insisted on keeping his wrists bound, something that his father had argued restlessly about but without prevail. Malfoy didn't mind however; he'd grown past the point of even noticing them there. So numb had his fingers become that he wasn't even sure he could move them on his own. Still, at least it was a feeling he had gotten used to.

"Draco Malfoy?" came a steady voice from behind the massive doors. It was the face of a man with black hair, blue eyes, and a sparkling silver wrist watch. It was bluntly obvious that the thing did not work. The name plate on the man's chest read: 'Lazarus Patel', and he seemed awkward despite his blunt professionalism. "Follow me." Thus, two additional men approached him at his sides, lifting him away from his parents and upward onto his feet. He let them lead him away, watching the shrinking figures of Lucius and Narcissa around him. His mother waved solemnly, her eyes pooling over with a set of fresh tears; his father offered him a nod. Then, like that, they were lost behind the slam of the large doors behind him.

The new room was vibrant, sparkling, and blue. Heavy specs of twinkling gold lined the stands of the court room which wrapped around the interior of the building in a big circle. Draco looked up slightly, feeling hot in way that the focus had remained so obviously upon him. Elaine Galler's face stood out among many, her old features made older by the look of odd anxiety on her face. She sat strangely, as if already concerned about the outcome. Nearest her sat Arthur Weasley, and next to him Dr. Bowen. His features were hard and stern. Though Malfoy had only seen him the previous day, he was certain that the man had aged within the hours that had passed. He looked more and more intense with anxiety, as if he could barely contain himself in his own seat.

"We'll begin," stated the man at the top of the podium. He was a small man that Malfoy had never seen before, and he seemed more interested in his papers than in the actual room itself. "The court versus Draco Malfoy has come to session. Mr. Malfoy, do you understand the provisions of your trial today?"

Malfoy was tired of being asked whether or not he understood. In reality, he knew that he did not. He had been rushed from his bed in the asylum, had barely been told the details of whatever it was that was happening around him. What he knew was minor and what he knew was this: Hermione Granger was trying to save him. "I do," he said hoarsely, and the occupants of the seats around him exchanged curious glances at the dryness of his tone.

"So you are aware that you face lengthy institution time if, over the course of this trial, you are deemed unfit to take proper care of yourself?" the man asked, raising an eyebrow. He did not look friendly, yet his expression remained rather unbiased. While he did not look as if he were a fan of Draco Malfoy, he also did not appear to have loathed him yet, either.

Draco nodded his heavy head up and down; he understood.

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**Vonne: **I've decided I am going to make this fanfiction last a little bit longer than intended. Perhaps it will last to about thirty-five chapters. I've realized that there is no way possible I can squeeze the end of this into thirty chapters. However, I really do like ending on a solid number. Thirty would have satisfied me, but since that's not going to happen, thirty-five was the next realistic. So! Hopefully that is a good thing- more reading! Let me know what you think! The faster I get reviews, the faster I update, definitely! Don't leave me hanging!


	28. Living Stably

**Vonne: **I am trying to update this as fast as possible! Please leave me some reviews to further motivate me! I've got to say that I'm not much of a fan of this chapter. It was very rushed towards the end because I wanted to split this trial into three different parts- the next chapter being the last of them. So, that means that you have to be very generous in leaving me reviews! It'll only speed everything up! :)

**Anon: **Thank you so much! I'm so glad that you're enjoying this! I'm enjoying writing this, for the most part. Please forgive me if this chapter seemed a bit off. I struggled with trying to fit the time into it. I've been so busy lately and I hope it hasn't showed.

**Ali-lou: **Aw, good! I hope you like this chapter, as well. Like I said before, it's not one of my favorites, but please, please let me know what you think. And it's okay- I can take constructive comments as well. This trial is going to last one more chapter after this one! So... maybe everything will be resolved soon enough? Or not... ;) still has thirty-five chapters in total, though. So, who knows?"

**TragicSltyherin: **HA! Yay! I'm glad I made enough of a cliffhanger for the lot of you. Sorry that it took so long to update. I'm trying to make this time, but I've been all over the place lately. AHAHAH your comment about torture made me laugh. I hope you never get tortured by me, either. Or anyone for that matter. I wouldn't imagine that torture would be that pleasant. Nonetheless, I've got a lot of practice in torture with writing this story. Maybe I'd be pretty good at it? Ugh, ahah I just gave myself the chills.

**Alice Wednesday: **I definitely needed to get back into Lucius' point of view with the last chapter. I remembered how much you all liked the moments between father and son, and that was for sure a major part of the story for me. So, getting back to the Malfoy's roots was a necessity. Now I need to tap into my inner Goyle. I have not forgotten him, of course. Anyway, I didn't include Arthur in this chapter... but maybe he'll make an appearance in the next?

**OanDuress: **Ah, I do realize that 'poor Draco' has become a certain catch phrase, but its only normal. I've come to torture him very much so over the last several chapters of 'Basket Case'. So, your repetitiveness is understood. By the way, you're not the only one who has said it. Perhaps you should coin the phrase? Charge every time it is used? ;)

**Psychic City: **I took your advice! :)

**LECandeh: **Thank you very much! I hope you like this chapter, as well.

**Lively McBrighten: **You as well! Thank you! :)

**Carl: **There you are again! :) Thank you very much. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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**Chapter Twenty-Seven:**  
**Living Stably **

"Well then, I believe that is all we need to hear." A quick exchange of nods had passed amongst those watching Draco Malfoy, and the short man at the podium redirected his focus towards the files in his hands. Though Malfoy had hardly been in the court room for five minutes, he had already begun to feel the sway of anxiety taunt him restlessly. He considered the possibility that perhaps a trial was unnecessary; perhaps he truly was unfit to take care of himself. Yet he brushed the notion quickly from his head. If Hermione had heard his thoughts, she would have told him to keep his head up, to forget his initial concerns. She was there for him, she would say; she was there for him and she always would be.

"Mr. Malfoy," begun the first inquiry among the group. The voice belonged to Dr. Bowen, his arched eyebrows lifted. "Is it true that seven months ago you attempted to throw yourself off of a bridge?" His visage wore no apology. Instead he looked stoney and unfazed about having asked such a personal question. He did not flinch when he noticed Malfoy's face run hot, a pink and humiliated tint washing over him upon impact. But Malfoy knew that Bowen knew the answer. Nonetheless, his desire to have Malfoy admit it out loud remained all the more persistent.

Draco swallowed the massive lump in his throat. He avoided eye contact and chewed on his bottom lip. Without really saying anything, he nodded his head in admission. Though his head had been positioned downwards, he could hear the solemn sigh from Elaine Galler across from him. She projected her sympathy obviously, her face drained of color, despite looking sadly guilty. Yet Malfoy could not truly blame her for however it was that this information had come to light. Either way, he was certain that he must have admitted it under Legilimens. "And," Dr. Bowen continued, "would you mind telling the court _why _it was that you chose to attempt suicide?"

Malfoy felt his head spin. The court leaned in on him invasively and he winced as the rise of bile lifted in his chest. He could hear the laughter of Voldemort in his head, could sense his oncoming presence even in the Ministry Court Room. However, he did not let his hallucination show. Instead, he attempted to compose himself. By avoiding eye contact, he gazed into his palms, sweaty and dirty in the center of his lap. "I was," he said, feeling his voice break, "unhappy."

"And the attack of the three men in the alleyway behind the Hogsmeade pub?"

Malfoy remembered the night. He had been drunk and staggering, miserable after a night of drinking. The men had advanced upon him without much warning, though he had done nothing to previously intimidate them. Their preconceived hatred for Draco was, however, understandable and the blond recognized that. Perhaps he should not have yelled back, and perhaps he should not have reached for his wand. "I was defending myself," Draco whispered, his vision blurring.

Dr. Bowen nodded and then turned greedily away from Malfoy to address the crowd. "Draco Malfoy's ability to live among the rest of the Wizarding World is nonexistent," he said, leaning away from Draco entirely. He seemed to disregard Malfoy's entire figure, acting as if he had left the room when he chose to continue. "Clearly, he cannot properly function within the boundaries of everyday society."

Thick silence gripped the court room and Draco felt his face grow hot. How had he ended up in the center of a court room with his entire life on the line? Only months ago he had been considering marriage to Pansy, had begun to move out of his parent's house and consider a life on his own. It was how things were supposed to go, right? Move out, buy a house, get married. He'd had it all planned, had it all set up and ready. Perhaps he would not have been the best husband, but he would have made Pansy happy. And maybe it was not his own happiness that was truly a concern. Besides, Malfoy had already realized that happiness was not truly one of his options.

He would never live within the Wizarding World on his own, would never spend the rest of his life with the woman he loved. Life would carry out as a torture for him without Hermione. He could forget seeing his mother and his father, could forget drinking with Crabbe on late nights. As he waited in the seat, hands bound at the wrists, he realized that the only life he could look forward to was the one he'd had in Hobb's. For the remainder of his existence, he would be drugged and directed and scrutinized. He would answer to Dr. Bowen and report to him the secrets of his dreams. At night, when the asylum staff would shove him into his bedroom, he'd spend the night with Voldemort and Nagani at his back, breathing mercilessly down his very neck.

"Mr. Malfoy, do _you _consider yourself capable to live stably?"

Draco looked up, his hazy vision taking in the sight of the stout man before him. He had not expected to have been asked the question of his own opinion. Had he? Had he considered himself well and stable and civilized? Could he truly picture himself walking the streets of his town in high spirits, alone without the sound of the Dark Lord's footsteps? No. The answer was clearly obvious, despite Malfoy's initial denial. He would never be in the right mind, would never be able to function properly in society. Forever he would be tormented and tortured. Forever he would remember the voice of the man who had showed him the horrors of the world. It was his curse and his doom, and he could never escape it.

And his father had just been so focused that he tell them the truth...

Too choked-up to say a word, Draco Malfoy shook his heavy head.

The man at the stand shrunk back, having not expected such an honest answer from the boy ahead of him. He raised a brow, staring down at Malfoy with strict curiosity before regaining his own composure. "Well then," he began, still appearing inquisitive, "is there anyone that believes otherwise?" It was an honest question, one that Malfoy was not even certain of for himself.

A loud bang was heard from the place in the wall that supported the massive doors to the court room. Yet as quickly as they'd opened, they shut, slamming behind them conclusively. Then the clip-clop of new footsteps had entered the room and Malfoy didn't even bother to look up. "I do."

Hermione Granger stood before the crowd, her gaze brought away from Malfoy. Upon hearing her voice, Draco glanced up, his shoulders dropping at the sight of her very arrival. However, she did not take time to greet him. Instead, she stood near his shoulder, her eyes locked within the court's. "Hermione Jean Granger," she reported, looking professional and steady all at the same time. Just as Draco had known her to be, she looked strong and fierce. There was something about her that demanded attention. And, despite the serious situation that he had found himself in, Draco could not help but consider her beautiful.

She looked as if she had put more than enough effort into making herself look presentable. Her bushy brown hair had been pulled back into a low ponytail. Her hair drawn away from her face had illuminated her features, made her look poised and professional in the center of the room. She stood taller in her navy blue heels, her matching blue skirt stiff and steady along her tilted hips. Her long fingernails shuffled through the stack of papers she'd had in her grip. Her brown eyes locked in the room with unstoppable determination.

"I have strong evidence in favor of Dra... Mr. Malfoy," she coughed, faltering for only a second. The room leaned in closer, intensifying. "He's not crazy."

"And what proof do you possess, Ms. Granger?" asked Dr. Bowen, his face almost leaning obsessively over the railing edge of the court.

"First," Hermione began, shifting. She turned her focus back to the rest of the room, ignoring Bowen in his entirety, "scientific." Then she drew herself forward, stepping even further away from Draco, who had remained almost still captivated in her presence. He wished for a moment that he had taken a more heart-felt attempt at cleaning himself up. His hair still fell forward greasily, and his eyes still looked thick with deep, dark bruises. He sat in his nerves, shivering in the chilliness of the courtroom, his eyes averted downwards at the pathetic shimmer of the polished shoes his mother had given him.

Dr. Bowen's eyebrow raised up significantly, "Scientific... proof?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded, "in the form of stress, actually." She lifted her shoulders; it was so simple. Yet the silence that had taken the room over had signified that she had needed to further clarify. But the uneasiness did not break her; despite being new to the court system, she did not find nerve in the anxious space before her. "Or, at least, stress is one of the triggers."

It was Dr. Bowen who remained persistent. He glanced back to Malfoy, then returned his gaze in Hermione's direction. His face remained rather unimpressed, but he could not hide the peak of interest that lit up his strong face. "Triggers?" he questioned heavily, "what do you mean... _triggers?"_

Hermione's mouth fell open. "Meaning Draco Malfoy's mental suffering can be explained through the means of a curse... imposed upon him by Voldemort, actually."

"And," Bowen persisted, "what curse?"

Whatever had made up Hermione's previous certainty had faltered. She looked solemn when she reported, "I don't know... at least, I'm not certain. It... could be something new. Previously unheard of." Her eyebrows furrowed, proving her struggle to voice her thoughts. "My point is, Draco Malfoy's mental instability is not any fault of his own. The visual terrors, the physical hallucinations... they're all side effects of Voldemort's hex. If you'll let me..."

"Let you what?" Once again, Dr. Bowen stiffened. He looked a bit more relaxed, as if he had caught Hermione in her own game. Yet the steadiness of his voice made her straighten. Even Malfoy felt distraught; he lowered himself in his seat, feeling his head swivel with the impact of the pressure in the room around him. "Explain? What about this... proof, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione's eyes shifted. She locked her gaze within the Patel's, who in turn only lifted his shoulders for her to continue. "Stress," she said again, turning her posture back towards Malfoy. She did not, however, look into his eyes, and her rejection made him only that much more nervous. Nonetheless, she lifted her hand, curling it near Malfoy's chin and her very touch made him stiffen. However, he seemed to be the only one who had seen the affection in her gesture; to the others, she looked as if she were only striving to prove her point. "And anxiety," finally her eyes found his, "he's not crazy, just... tortured."

Her fingers slipped down the side of his neck and Malfoy held his breath. He couldn't ignore her eyes, her beautiful focus that had so captivated him. And there he sat, vulnerable and pathetic in the middle of the room, the subject of all scrutiny. His heart started to beat faster and the room seemed to spin. Something unseen had begun to creep up on him and, there in his position, he could only glance up at Hermione in silence.

"It's okay," she mouthed, her back turned towards the rest of the courtroom. "It's going to be okay."

He wished he could believe her. However, she did not seem to pay his anxiety ay attention. Her fingers touched the side of his neck and she felt for his pulse. "If you'll just let me," she started again, her breath steady and slow, "show you..."

His pulse quickened and Hermione could tell. At once her expression softened and her fingers trailed away. She did not help Draco, whose head spun at the loss of her. And the laughter around the room picked up again, swooped in on him when he had least expected it. She had left him and he had come again. As consistent as it had seemed, Malfoy felt the cold chill run up his spine. His head felt airy and heavy all at the same time. The breaths of the others in the courtroom, they seemed to linger at the front of his clammy face.

When his eyes rolled back up into his head, he couldn't help but permit his body to drag him forward. Yet Patel had stumbled from the chairs around the room, his arms out at the ready. To Hermione's relief, he'd made the catch, hosting Draco's freshly unconscious body up from the ground. His face had shifted, looking somewhat horrified at the sight of him. Yet Malfoy's loose posture only leaned into Patel's heavy chest, his shoulders hanging and his fingers unclenched. For the second time in the evening, the room fell silent. Something about Draco's unconscious reaction had triggered something of a domino effect. No one dared movement, no one dared much of anything.

"Voldemort chose stress and unhappiness as a trigger to set off Malfoy's symptoms. He is... able to get into Malfoy's mind, much like he was able to do with Harry, as you all know." Hermione found it difficult to turn away, but she kept her attention focused, nailed in onto the surrounding others. "Only, the effects of this curse is a bit different. He's able to return to Malfoy, even in death."

Dr. Bowen shook his head. "So what?" he stated, looking unmoved. Draco's body slackened, still pressed up against Patel, who seemed unmotivated to move. His fingers danced above Malfoy a fraction of a second, wondering exactly what next to do with him. "This doesn't prove anything," Bowen continued, "expect that the boy seems to have trouble staying conscious."

Patel shook his head. He had finally managed to press the back of his own hand to Malfoy's chest, feeling his heartbeat carefully. "His heartbeat," he stated out loud, "it is rather irregular."

Hermione's beam broadened. "He talks in his sleep, too, Dr. Bowen," she said with a tone that was rather matter-of-fact. "I'm sure you'd noticed this during Malfoy's stay in your care?"

This time, Eliane Galler leaned towards Hermione, her head tilted to the side. "His visions," she said, "they all involved..." then she trailed off, as if feeling rather guilty. She had perhaps not considered his thoughts during their Legilimens sessions before.

Yet Hermione's stature only seemed to grow in confidence. "That," she said, regaining herself, "is exactly what I mean."

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**Vonne: **Quick update, short chapter... seems like a bit of a filler, but Hermione's on a roll. Review! More chapters as soon as possible.


	29. Field of Gold

**Vonne: **Okay, so this is an extremely long chapter, so I'm going to make this short. I think the document said this was about 8,200 words on its own without this introduction. Phew! Please, please, leave me a review for this. My fingers are tired!

**Tragic Slytherin: **I'm so glad that you've enjoyed the last chapter! But I'm going to keep you guessing until the very end- at least, hopefully. Though, this might seem like a nice end to this story, it is _not_ the end. We've still got some things to sort out at Hobb's, with Hermione and Draco, and even that psychotic patient Beevis...

**Doni: **Thank you! Yes, Draco will definitely realize all Hermione's done to help him out; and appreciate it! He'd better have, too, because certainly Hermione's improved his situation by miles... you'll understand what I mean after this chapter, of course.

**Corey Fitzwilliam: **It's definitely no problem, I'm happy to hear from you at all. Thank you so much for your compliments, and I'm glad that you like 'Basket Case'. I think I've put more work into this second part of 'Radio', so it means a lot that you feel that you may like this part a bit better. Anyway, thank you again and I don't hold not reviewing against you. Your review just made my day.

**Alice Wednesday: **Okay, okay, I know, I ended the last chapter rather suddenly, but I had planned to do the entire last courtroom debate in this chapter... so hopefully it makes more sense that way! Thank you so much for your consistent reviews! I love hearing your ideas all the time, you've motivated me to continue with this- and now there's no way I'm not going to finish. You'll find out what's tormenting Draco in this chapter, for sure. Promise!

**Dramionefiend: **Okay, definitely! Sorry it took a while, but here it is! I hope you like it!

**Ali-lou: **Thank you so much! You've made my day, really. I hope that I pull off Draco's character in this fiction as well as you say. I'm so glad that you like this! I made this chapter extra long, too! So hopefully it makes up for the delay!

**OanDuress: **You should charge, you'd make bank. ;)

**Pearlrose33: **You're going to find out in this chapter! Sorry I'm making all these so short! I wrote such a long chapter and now all these words are giving me a headache. I fear that its going to get a little bit overwhelming- at least, it is for me just typing it, anyways. Sorry for the tiny delay! I hope you like this chapter!

**Psychic City:** Oh hayyy.

Special thanks to: **Le Candeh**, **Lively McBrighten**, **MCLanna**, **Carl**, and **Bby**!

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**Chapter Twenty-Eight:**  
**Field of Gold**

Ron Weasley considered two things. One, why exactly it was that courtroom trials took as long as they did; and two, why Draco Malfoy had just been escorted out from his. Hermione Granger had been behind the massive stone doors for what had seemed like an eternity, though Harry had assured him it had only been a matter of three hours, and the court's main defendant wasn't even conscious. He'd stiffened when he'd saw the back doors to the room slip open, Draco Malfoy's body limp and unconscious floating in the air above two uniform-looking men. Their faces carried spooked expressions, every once in a while glancing back up towards the sleeping body as if it might fall on them. Still, they hustled by secretly, peering over their shoulders before disappearing behind the doors of the Ministry building entirely.

"This place, mate," Ron said, looking at the door even after it had shut behind them, "gives me the creeps, I'll tell you."

"Yeah, well," Harry Potter mused, shrugging. He hadn't noticed Draco and the Ministry Men. Instead, he'd been watching the front of the building, his eyes keenly focused on the figure of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. The two had been standing at the start of the hallway for hours, their faces twisted in similarly perplexed frowns. Narcissa, however, had not stopped sobbing since he had seen her, and even Harry had to admit that she looked positively dreadful. Her blonde hair swept out of place, the woman blinked running mascara from her eyes and clung on to her husband's side with desperate intent. Lucius did all the talking. "Got to get used to it, I reckon. If we're going to be Aurors, know what I mean?"

Arthur Weasley's shadow stood next to the two Malfoy's. He used his hands to make friendly gestures and kept a hopeful smile on his face. During his time observing the conversation, Harry couldn't help but notice how carefully the man spoke to Narcissa and Lucius. He had every reason to act pompously, yet he managed to keep his composure. And Harry couldn't help but smile; it was so like Arthur to keep a kind attitude, despite any situation that he had had with the family in the past. Harry noticed that the man had even seemed sympathetic, his tone hushed and secretive at times, as if to keep the pair calm. Harry shifted his posture on the bench outside the courtroom. "Err," he said, cocking his chin towards Ron's father and Malfoy's panicked parents, "what do you think they're talking about?"

Ron's face moved away from the door, his eyes locking back on his father. For a second, the two boys stared at the sad scene ahead of them. Neither of the three seemed to notice Draco's exit from the courtroom either. Instead, they spoke in close whispers, Narcissa's consistent sobs only slightly breaking their quiet conversation. "Probably discussing their chances," Ron said finally, shrugging. "Of Malfoy getting out of Hobb's." With a lift of his brow, he returned his gaze back to his best friend, "what do you think they are?"

"Think what is?" Harry mumbled, watching Lucius' hands tighten around Narcissa's fingers. She pressed her forehead deeper into her husband's broad shoulder.

"The chances, mate!" Ron quipped, nudging Harry slightly. He reached back into his pocket, fiddling with his wand nervously. "Malfoy's chances of... you know, walking?"

"Oh," Harry responded, turning away from Arthur and his conversation, "that."

Neither Harry or Ron had discussed Malfoy's chances since the start of the trial. Really, it had been Hermione who had done most of the talking. Because it had taken an entire week to get Draco even released from the asylum building, they had been given seven days to prepare and collect their evidence. And Hermione, of course, had done a vast majority of the research. Though Harry had been through the court system himself and he had known; getting a 'not guilty' verdict was not easy. Yet he couldn't handle the stress of breaking her stride. So hopeful about her chances, Hermione had even started to shift back into her normally joyous routine.

It had been weeks since the two had seen her act the way she had been then. She woke up early, looking presentable and lovely. She ate breakfast with them, books in hand, taking close notes. She talked about the trial and the evidence she'd found, made phone calls and drew up plans. They had not even objected when she'd reached Goyle on the tiny little walkie-talkie and invited him over for tea. Of course, that wasn't to say that they hadn't been happy to hear he'd turned the invitation down. He awkwardly stumbled over himself as he told her, "err, no. Thanks though... I've got, uh, research of my own to d-do." Though Goyle's resistance to make nice with Harry, Hermione, and Ron had not stopped her in her efforts. She'd visited Elaine Galler and Lazarus Patel, showing them her notes and professing to them her determination. She never slept, passing out on occasion in the binding of her library books, her face pressed to her inky notes, her fingers still half-cradled around the bulk of her limp quill.

He remembered the final night, however, before the trial, when Hermione had slunk into the living room. Her notes had been stacked into an impressive pile at the table behind her, her face dripping with sweat. She looked as if she hadn't showered in days, yet her smile was undeniable. Then, finally, she breathed, "I've done it," and pushed her wiry hair from her watering eyes. "I've finally done it!" Nonetheless, when she'd actually managed to direct her tired body to the couch, she was out within moments. Of course, Harry had been rather impressed; the next morning, she'd left to the courthouse before Ron and Harry had even managed to get dressed.

Harry inhaled, running his hand through his messy head of black hair. "I think," he said earnestly, choosing his words carefully, "Hermione's got a bunch of notes."

Ron's face crumbled. Curiously, he asked, "what's that supposed to mean?"

A pause calmed the passed speech between the two. When Harry glanced up, however, his face was twisted into a smile. Then he passed Ron a slight wink, despite his obvious nerves. All he had wanted was for Hermione to be happy again, for everything to be put right. Sure, he had only recently come to terms with Draco, but even he knew that the man didn't deserve entrapment. Then, he said simply, "Hermione's _really_ great at taking notes."

A slight bang sounded out around them and Ron's returned smile faltered, as did Harry's. Both of the young men glanced around, back to the doors that Ron had only recently lost focus with. Something shifted and they finally drew themselves back open, the bulk of a thin, floating stretcher prodded its way through. At the surface of it rest Draco Malfoy, having made his second appearance. He lie on his side, his knees stiffly up to his chest. He looked ill and his body slightly jerked, as if he were suffering from a rather mild night terror. The previous pair of Ministry Men at his side had increased in size; this time, the sleeping Malfoy was escorted back into the court room by no more than five.

"Hey!" Yet again, Harry's head snapped backwards, jumping at the loud voice that had shouted out from behind him. Ron followed suit, turning around instantly to see that Lucius had darted forward, his walking stick discarded to the side. It clamored on the marble floor by Narcissa's feet, yet the man still continued running. "Hey! What are you doing? _Hey!"_

The five men at Draco's side only ignored the boy's father. They didn't even bother exchanging curious looks. Instead, they shuffled Malfoy back through the doors, once again bringing him away from the Ministry hallway completely. It only took a fraction of a second. Thus, Lucius stopped dead in his tracks, having made it only halfway passed the point of Ron and Harry's resting point. But Ron and Harry only watched, silent as they stood to the sidelines, caught up in the sheer intensity of it all. Lucius, however, did not move. He payed the boys no attention; only, his focus remained on the freshly shut doors that had slammed forcibly shut on him in the distance. He stared on, beyond the exterior of the marble doors, and his shoulders slumped. When he heard the oncoming steps of Arthur Weasley from behind him, he wheeled himself back around, an expression on his face that was angry, yet perhaps even more so petrified.

"What," he breathed, his blond hair cast brutally along the surface of his pale face, "is the meaning of this?"

"It's okay," Arthur explained, his hands out in front of him. Despite his position of higher authority, he still lifted his palms up, as if offering back a surrender. "They're only just doing their job, I-"

"And what's happening to my son?" Lucius cut him off, his eyes blaring with resentment and terror.

Harry and Ron took their stands. Though Lucius could not see their instinctive reaction to his hostility; they stood behind him still, their fists clenched wearily. Yet only Harry managed to glance back towards the end of the hallway, back to where Narcissa stood. Her posture havered responsively, noticing that Harry had glanced back at her. Yet she did not return his stare. Instead, she allowed her eyes to slump to the ground, eyeing the shadow of her husband's discarded walking stick.

For a second she hovered over it, yet it did not take her long to bend down and grace her fingers back over it. Her ghostly transparent features shone in the gold light of the Ministry building, making her look ghastly with excessive tears. Thus, when she'd positioned herself to the ground with Lucius' walking stick, she did not readjust herself to a second stance. Instead, she remained on the ground, her gaze back up at the doors that her son had only so recently vanished through.

Lucius' shouts still shook the room and Harry's head snapped back to the blond man. "T-This can't possibly be _textbook._ How can anyone expect to a-analyze him if he's..." Lucius' face crumbled, "bloody unconscious?"

"He's in good hands, Lucius," Arthur promised, nodding sincerely. His eyes were wide with truth and he looked both certain and sympathetic. He seemed to understand the tragedy of having lost a son, and the marks of age in his face truly signified his loss. Though it had been five years since the Weasley family had lost Fred to the bitterness of war, not a day passed that they did not think back to the very memory of him.

Lucius instantly understood. His aggressive posture fell and his face flattened. For a second, he considered the visual expression of the redhead in front of him. He faltered, eyes watering, and then regained himself, smoothing out the front of his impressive suit and jamming his hands into the pockets of his trousers. When he straightened himself, he still sheepishly kept his face positioned back down to the ground, his eyes examining something far more easy to look at. "Right," he said, shaking his head and wincing. When he looked back up at Arthur Weasley, all the muscles in his face had relaxed themselves. "Thank you."

Then, with that, he strode past Arthur, his attention brought on to his wife and his wife alone. He moved towards her attentively and when he finally reached her, he helped her off the floor, fixed himself back with his walking stick, and disappeared for the final time around the corner of the everlasting hallway. It took only a slight second for Arthur to compose himself. He stood, frozen in the hallway, his eyes swimming with the memory of his lost son, and then he too made his way back down the hall. Finally, when Ron and Harry had been left alone again, the two relaxed their stances.

Ron stepped back out from Harry's side, his fingers hanging loosely at his hips. "Huh," he said miserably, "looks like the War's fucked up just about everyone." He shook his head, flopping back onto the bench, his tone bouncing off the delicate walls around him.

Harry stumbled back, too. His feet forcing him back to the bench, where he regained his slumped position at Ron's slouchy side. He drew a long breath, staring back down the hall, and then responsively at the shimmer of his shined shoes. "Yeah," he said in a voice that was unquestionably solemn.

"You know," Ron said, breathing out, "believe it or not, I want Draco to get his 'not guilty' verdict. I want him to get out of Hobb's."

"Oh yeah?" Harry inquired, lifting a brow up in response. "Why's that?"

"'Cause that would confirm it, wouldn't it?" Ron stated, lifting his hands up in a rather defeated gesture. "That, sooner or later, everything gets better." He exchanged glances with Harry, lifting up his shoulders. "Isn't that what they say? Doesn't... doesn't... 'time heal all wounds'?"

For the second time in the evening Harry smoothed back his mop of messy black hair. He turned away from Ron, who had taken up a new staring contest with the marble tiles, and looked back towards the shut doors of the courtroom. Then finally, he breathed back out again, his sigh heavy on the chilly hallway around the two of them. "I dunno," he said conclusively; however, he guessed it wouldn't be that much longer until he could find out.

* * *

Draco Malfoy's body gave a tiny little flinch. It was positioned in a distraught and floppy manner, with its left hand dangling over the edge of the stretcher loosely. Hermione passed a steady glance back at Draco, her heart pounding faster, but she managed to keep her composure. But really, she didn't have much of a choice in the matter; the courtroom had focused all their attention on her and her defendant. She couldn't risk giving herself away by expressing any emotion towards the unconscious man in front of her. However, she could not deny the brutal sympathy she felt for him. As his weak chest rose up and down with sleep, she barely managed not reaching forward and giving his hand a tight squeeze.

"How long is he usually out for?" Lazarus Patel inquired. He had not been able to keep his eye off of Draco Malfoy ever since he had been brought back into the courtroom, which was beginning to feel more like a hospital ward all things considered.

Hermione, however, took the change of atmosphere to her advantage, shifting her weight and proclaiming vividly, "it ranges. Usually, he's not out for that long. That is, when's he's not drugged." She shot a bitter look in the direction of Bowen, whose face grew hot on impact. He shrunk back, crossing his burley arms around his thick chest. Hermione was more than relieved to see that the man had took her comment offensively.

Elaine Galler had stepped forward; she had been standing near Draco for quite some time since he had been brought back into the marble room and her face was twisted in a rather solemn frown. Because her hair was so tightly pulled away from her face, her expression had become more grim and far more visible. And even Hermione couldn't help but spot the spot gentleness she had in her presence around him. Every so often, when she would catch her in her scrutiny, Hermione would notice the therapist's hand slip up towards Draco's blond hair and brush it away from his pale face.

In a much more understanding and soft tone, Hermione began again. "I'm sure you all remember Harry Potter's visions... his set backs." She gestured towards her chest, offering a kind expression, "I went to school with him, and I was able to recognize Mr. Malfoy's symptoms in the same way that I grew to recognize Harry's."

"And how would you know what Draco Malfoy's symptoms are, Ms. Granger?" Dr. Bowen fired. He seemed to have gained much more confidence in his inquiry, lifting his eyebrow with a jolting force. Something behind his eyes flickered and Hermione could tell that he was more than feebly determined to not have her prove him wrong.

Yet his comment had done its purpose; Hermione stalled. Uneasily she shifted her weight from one side to the other, chewing distractingly on her lower lip for support. For a moment she considered herself to be far out of her league. The men and women in front of her, they'd been doing their jobs for years. They'd seen court case after court case, convicted people for years when they were not fit to properly defend themselves. Thus, inwardly frantic, Hermione glanced back around the room; yet Elaine Galler seemed to be staring at her with an expression that held no damnation. Instead, she nodded her head and leaned away from her ex-patient, lifting a wiry finger.

She said professionally, "I can explain that one, actually."

Dr. Bowen's face hardened. Yet, nonetheless, he lifted his palm and swooped it across the space in front of him, as if giving her the floor. "By all means," he responded.

"Hermione was actually an assistant to me during the times Draco Malfoy was in my care." She lied as if such a thing came easily to her. Not even for a moment did her face shift; instead, she remained rather sure in her testimony, speaking with casual tones in a way that was admittedly rather impressive. "At the time, Draco Malfoy had experience one of his episodes in the hallway. Hermione was actually quite the help at the time."

The stern look on the aylum doctor's face shifted. He glanced from Galler, to Hermione, and then back again. However, his pride overwhelmed him; he did not have the will to drop the subject. Instead, he lifted up his broad shoulders, shrugging in a slightly demeaning manner to ask, "meaning?"

Elaine Galler's shrug matched his. She looked back at him calmly, ignoring Hermione as she gawked back at her. "Meaning Ms. Granger was more than happy to fix Mr. Malfoy back up. Needless to say, she had witnessed his symptoms then once." Then, hurriedly, she added, "if you don't count the two other times Mr. Malfoy passed out in my hallway, or in the waiting room, in fact."

The cocky attitude that Dr. Bowen had been carrying faltered. He seemed to have bought the therapist's story, despite managing to keep such an atrocious front to mask it. Nonetheless, he leaned back, red in the face, and remained oddly quiet in the moments that a thick silence wound around the room. "And so," Lazarus Patel spoke up again. He seemed to ignore Bowen in his obvious pout, and instead kept his focus locked on Draco, whose breathing had become far from steady. "What exactly are these symptoms?"

"In the way that Harry could see Voldemort, Draco can, as well." Elaine offered, still ignoring Hermione's uneasy gaze. Hermione had always considered the woman unbearable; the woman who had suggested Draco's admittance to Hobb's in the first place. But now the woman seemed so keen on helping out her previous patient. Yet Hermione was so fascinated in her carefree way of doing so, as if perhaps it had been her intent all along. Certainly, she had brought unneeded stress into Draco's life... or had it been Hermione who had concluded this so quickly? "He also suffers from vivid nightmares."

Malfoy's face twisted. His brows furrowed together in his sleep, and from his throat, he emitted a soft and miserable moan. It was one that Hermione knew to well, yet the rest in the room had frozen, perhaps due to their own reasons. Lazarus' face was horrified, yet Bowen's face was bitter- surely, he had not wished for more evidence to pile up against him. Nonetheless, the squirming body of Malfoy only progressed. Dazed, he slipped his hands up to his head and rubbed his cheek against his palm. For a second he lie still, though it was not long before he brought his knees back up to his chest in a submissive and tortured manner. Quickly, Elaine Galler brought her wand down, touching the temple of Malfoy's head. She looked strained for a moment, but when she pulled the tip of her wand away from Malfoy, a long, silver strand of the boy's memory had been lifted. Malfoy's torso stopped shaking, and his face fell to an expression that appeared far more content than before.

"So that's it then?" Lazarus stammered, glancing at the dangling silver memory with wide-eyes. His face found the Penseive in the corner of the courtroom; he had finally understood as to why the Ministry had insisted it be brought in, in the first place. "T-That's Mr. Malfoy's memories?"

Elaine Galler nodded stiffly, her head tilted as she too took in the sparkling thing. "One of many, Mr. Patel," she said, and Hermione stepped back. "This, however, is just a memory of a nightmare." She nodded towards Hermione and it was the first time she had truly looked at her since her performance earlier. "Ms. Granger," she said, nodding towards the Penseive in the corner of the dark room, "if you please."

Hermione wasted no time. Stumbling over herself, she retreated back towards the marble thing, staring down into the water for a moment before she had time to react. Then, when she had her fingers firmly around the edge, she staggered back over to Elaine and the unconscious body of Malfoy, steering the Penseive back in front of the panel in the room decisively. "Mr. Patel?" Elaine offered, scooting back the thing in the breathless man's direction.

Lazarus Patel faltered, looking anxious, like a deer caught in the headlights. He straightened his long silver tie and smoothed back his hair with the fingers on his chubby hand. For a moment, he looked as if he were about to pass out, yet something about him seemed driven; diving into the memory was his job, and he knew that he had to do it. Nonetheless, he chewed hastily on his lower lip, looking up at the crowd of people behind him, and then back at the Penseive nervously.

And the shaking of his hands made his anxiety obvious. Yet his nod came back to both Elaine and Hermione as curt and what was at least fractionally ready. He leaned forward, craning his neck out over the surface of the Penseive, and then, within seconds, he was gone.

* * *

_Draco Malfoy's dream was not just a dream; it was a nightmare. And for him, it was a reality._

_Lazarus Patel could see the boy, far off in the distance, his long limbs barely carrying him over the majority of dry wheat that crowded at his feet. And Draco was heaving, his face covered in a mixture of blood, and sweat, and tears. The tattered appearance of his clothes had been unmistakable and it made Lazarus almost physically sick to his stomach. Malfoy's white button-up shirt was torn and covered in his own red blood, dripping intensely in thick sweat. The hem of it had come halfway tucked out of his black trousers, and his polished black shoes were scuffed and untied. Around his shoulders, his deep black tie flapped in the wind, almost completely undone from his neck. _

_His lip was split, and his black eye was obvious. And despite having heard rumors about the boy's current unpresentable demeanor, this vision of Draco was far more beaten than Lazarus had seen him in the courtroom. Yet all the blood had been dried on his face; he sported an ample amount of bruises that had barely healed over. Above the cloud only darkened, churning with the onset of gray clouds, threatening a storm or a hurricane. But it seemed as if the frightened young boy was alone, somewhere off in the field of golden grass, breathlessly running through the emptiness, his solidarity confirmed by the harsh echo of his own thundering breaths._

_Something shifted in the burnt and ashy brush behind him._

_"Expelliarmus!" he shouted, twisting around mid-step. He shot his wand out, pointing it at the sudden new rustle in the woods. And he did not stop running. Lazarus could tell that his sides were splitting; he looked as if he had run for miles without stopping and his pain was obvious. Thus, once he'd shouted his spell, he darted, still staggering- and Lazarus finally noticed the limp in his step, the lagging sort of stumble that made the man ponder whether his leg was even suitable to have been put to use. _

_Nonetheless, Draco pushed on it, oblivious to the damage he was facing. Though the shifting around the sky had been obvious- even to Lazarus now- who stood with his face cocked upwards, his mouth half-way open, watching the scenery around him. Lazarus could see it now; the shadows, they were everywhere. They stood in separate places, barely moving, only analyzing. Their wands sat lifelessly between their slender fingers, a smile on their shaded faces. In the moment that everything was silent, they took their time to waltz forward; a playful game that they deemed as necessary. However, when the slight moment of odd serenity passed, one of the shades lifted up her wand and pointed. _

_Her voice rung out in a tone that was bitterly sweet, high pitched, and sadistic. "Impendimenta!" she cried, and the jet of light jolted out from the tip of her wand, hitting her target within the very instant. And, breathing wildly, she pushed her messy black hair out from her face that was both terrible and strangely captivating. Bellatrix Lestrange watched as Malfoy let out a little whimper, and fumbled. His feet catching back over one another, crying out as he was hit directly in the back._

_The side of his very skull hit the ground first and he slammed down into the dry grass in full force. And even from his distance, Lazarus could hear the boy sob, his sore throat blatant even in the whoosh of the oncoming storm. "Tag!" Bellatrix giggled, a broad smile across her face. She pulled her hair back with the tip of her wand, tilting her head to the side as she took her slow steps towards her nephew. The overwhelming joy she took in harming Draco was unmistakable, and she practically glowed when she said in a rather tisking tone of voice, "you've not been so good, now have you, Draco?" _

_The cluster of dark figures followed her out, though they remained far less animated. Their wands were lifted then, and they glided forward like specters. They paid no attention to the oncoming storm, no attention to the crackle of thunder from above, or the writhing boy in the golden grass below. And they remained strictly quiet, allowing Bellatrix to do all the talking as they slid across the waving grass, their eyes grazing Malfoy as he attempted to lift himself back up, yet only managing to fumble back down in the process._

_"Running isn't going to do you any good, Draco," spat one of the male shadows, finally, his voice heavy and powerful- Yaxley._

_Malfoy reached forward, still trying to lift himself, despite all efforts. He'd made it to his knees, stretching himself forward to get a proper stance. However, it was Amycus Carrow who was far too quick for him. "Crucio!" he shouted, extending his wand around outwards, hitting Draco with the spell instantly. Thus, the slender body of the boy fell forward again, a new yelp sound out from his throat, and he curled forward, hugging his stomach and crashing back into the grass onto his side. Yet the pain was far too much for him and the spasms made his sweat double. His head scraped against the sharp grass, his fingers loosening with the volts of electricity running through his very core._

_Lazarus stepped forward, taking advantage in his ability to invade the memory without being seen, and watched horrified. Nonetheless, the crowd continued forward, casual to Malfoy completely. But when he was finally released from the Unforgivable Curse, they had finally met their destination. Though, by then, Malfoy was almost too weak to move anyway. Instead, he remained on his side, helpless as Yaxley lifted up his foot and delivered a hard kick to his stomach._

_"Disloyal," he spat, then reaching down, and hoisting Draco back up to his feet. The boy staggered and then swayed, hunched over in a desperate attempt to keep himself from doubling back down to the floor again. Yet his fingers found the circumference of his slender wand again, and he took haste in the split second that he found himself being left alone. _

_"Petrifi-" he started, thus once again falling far short._

_"Relasho!" the Death Eater grunted, his eyes burning bitterly. Draco was forced backwards, his entire body lifted from the ground and sent flying. When he finally landed with a crash back into the wheat fields, he had lost hold of his wand; somewhere in the middle of all that wheat, it sat alone. _

_And Malfoy's sobbing now had come through the air more petrified than ever. He could not catch his breath, and he scrambled to his feet far too slowly; Amycus delivered a harsh blow to the back of the boy's blond head, and he slammed back into the ground brutally. The Death Eater bent forward, lifting Malfoy up by the roots of his hair and slamming his heavy fist into his face instantly. The sound split the air, cracking with the thunder above, and it forced Draco back down, his nose pouring with a fountain of fresh, red blood that dribbled down the front of his white shirt like a fountain. Still, he reacted, even without his wand, and lunged back at the stout man._

_But the seventeen year old was absolutely no match for the group of Death Eaters alone. "Levicorpus!" Yaxley bellowed, and Draco's body was lifted up harshly by the ankles. He gasped, the wind clearly knocked out from his lungs, but he'd been unable to free himself. As the nearing Death Eaters made their way in his direction, he only lifted up his arms to protect his face. "You bleeding little prick!" shouted Amycus, who had only just noticed that his fellow Death Eater had saved him from a blow to the back of the head. "You useless little swine!" _

_Rapidly, he lifted his arm, redirecting it to Malfoy's gut, and pulling Draco's arms away from his face. He'd had him from there; once he'd managed to render him completely helpless, he delivered a third punch, this time out of pure fury, his knuckles colliding with the side of his cheek. The blood tumbled from Malfoy's open mouth, and he coughed as it tainted the yellow wheat below him. He couldn't help but cry now, screaming uselessly in the bulk of the thundering storm. Thus, when Yaxley finally released him from the curse, he slammed back onto the ground, his skull colliding with the side of a sharp rock in the process. _

_Malfoy let out a pained moan, his eyes overflowing with tears that watered excessively down his cheeks. He arched his back up on the floor, struggling to produce a proper breath. Choking, he managed all he could. "P-Please d-don't kill me," he begged, a hoarse and timid tone to his ill voice. He inhaled thickly, his chest rising and his face twisting. "Please," he continued, desperate, "don't kill me."_

_An echo of choir-esque laughter sounded out around the open space of swaying filed. "I'll make sure the Dark Lord kills you," hissed Amycus, his wand out in front of him like a loaded gun. "And he will, too, you fucking coward! He'll leave your corpse to Nagani, or your spineless little friend, Goyle."_

_Amycus took a step forward, watching new blood blend in with the messy hair on Draco's split head. "I think we'll have Goyle take care of your remains, hm?" he continued, watching Malfoy's hands feel the ground. Despite the injury to his head, he searched the space for his wand, lost in the golden bristles. However, Amycus' reactions were to be predicted; he made grab for Draco around the neck and let a smile cross his face when he'd had the boy back on his feet. _

_"Imperio!" shouted Amycus, directing his wand back in the boy's direction. At once, Malfoy was slammed back down to the ground, forced on his knees. His arms dangled by his side ineffectively, and the blood drooled down the front of his gashed face. From out of nowehere, Fenir Greyback's shadow was cast alongside of Amycus' short and unfortunate one. However, the smaller of the two Death Eaters pressed onward, grabbing Draco by the collar of his shirt, and serving him a second blow to his eye. Fenir's grin doubled. _

_"We'll have Goyle carry your pretty little remains into the streets of Hogsmeade," the hairy man sadistically smiled, "of course, you'll be severed up into a million bits and pieces by then."_

_Alecto Carrow strode out from the darkness; Lazarus had not noticed her there beforehand, but he'd assumed that she'd remained in the background all along. Alecto's frumpy frame matched up dually with her brother's, and she wore the same twisted expression as he had. "First Goyle will cut off your arms," she said, and leaned in. Her fingers made an instant find, grabbing onto Malfoy's right forearm and snapping it out of place. _

_He was forced into the chest of the Carrow brother, only to be met in the stomach by the front of his forceful knee. "And then he'll slice into your stomach."_

_Malfoy cried out, tears pooling down the front of his face, slipping down his swollen cheeks. But under the Unforgivable Curse, he couldn't move, and he was helpless when Yaxley's steady shadow approached him again. He lifted his hands, grabbing the front of Malfoy's chin and pinching it upwards so that he could perhaps get a better look into the boy's flooded eyes. And Lazarus was astonished to see that he'd made it this long without passing out, his consciousness hovering with ever moment that his bruised eyes rolled back into his skull. Yet Yaxley made it impossible for him to find safety in unconsciousness._

_His fingers locked within Malfoy's hair for the second time and, with his free hand, he grabbed the discarded rock that had been sitting in the field next to him. "And then he'll saw off your head from your shoulders," he said, dragging the stone against the side of his face. _

_"Please, don't kill me." The blond struggled to speak. His hair had turned almost a deep shade of red, and it stuck across his equally bloody visage in a horrible and distinct way that made Lazarus cringe, even as a spectator. Though, despite being under the Impervious Curse, Draco was allowed the freedom to shake his head, blinking tears out of his eyes while he hiccuped, popping bubbles of vibrant red blood from his open mouth. _

_Amycus' face lifted into a smile. Nonetheless, he dropped the rock, letting it hit the ground next to Malfoy's knees and turning around dully to face Yaxley, Fenir, and Alecto. "Did you hear that?" he asked aloud to the group around him. "I think we've scared poor Draco..." A second fit of chuckles erupted around the crowd again and when Amycus turned back to Malfoy, his expression was serious and rather intense. "Oh, I'm not going to kill you, Draco, not yet." He said calmly, "I think, though, that Crabbe will enjoy it, when it does come."_

_The man released Malfoy, slashing his wand at the same moment that the boy's torso slipped forward. Once again, he made grab towards his stomach, curling up on his knees, and hugging himself closely. And while only his head lolled forward, his shoulders heaved up and down with his sobs. Bellatrix Lestrange, however, had finally made her approach. In the churning clouds, she walked like a bride on her wedding day, step after every prolonged step, until finally, when she reached his level, she squatted down and lifted his chin with a pinch of her long fingers. "He's coming now, you know..."_

_Then there was a crack in the sky; it seemed as if the world had split. _

_There, in the field of gold, Voldemort stood in flowing black._

_"So," he said, snake-like, "it's true, then." He cradled his wand in his hands delicately, and Malfoy jolted upwards. He fumbled back, his bloody palms as his only support, but was stopped in the middle of his crab-like crawl when Bellatrix's foot collided with his back. She shook her head teasingly, but looked fascinated when Voldemort spoke up again. "But alas, I had to see it for myself."_

_Lazarus was unaware, but he continued to listen in silently, taking a stance at Malfoy's quivering side. He was close enough to sense the boy's fear, close enough to hear his heart beat wildly under his bloody shirt. But the ghost of the half-dead man only floated forward, gliding across the nature-filled floor with such ease. His face was blank, but his eyes were ablaze, and Malfoy's panting was almost unbearably obvious. "Your friend Goyle wasn't much help in finding you, I might add." Voldemort informed him carefully. "We couldn't have that; and he was punished for it."_

_Bellatrix cocked up her chin, gesturing back towards Yaxley, whose grin widened. "Yaxley here made sure of that." Lazarus watched Draco's face crumble, and his eyes swell up. Despite the blood dripping from his nose, mouth, and skull, his real fear was for his friend. He looked utterly crushed- Lazarus realized this by the contortion on his pale face, both guilty and mournful, as if he had caused the assumed death of what had been perhaps his only friend in the entire world. _

_"Crabbe, on the other hand," he looked down at Draco, his face soft and falsely understanding, "... he kindly offered us his help."_

_"Said you slipped out of your cot in the night, he did," Alecto clarified, anxious and over excited; Voldemort, however, did not seem to mind her contribution to the conversation. Instead, he permitted her to talk, laughing simply as she did so, her smile wide and profound. "Told us how to find you and everything, he did. He even showed us out the back door."_

_"It didn't take long, either," accompanied Amycus, his eyes narrow with the memory of the scene that had happened only hours ago. "Fenir... he could smell you."_

_Malfoy's throat clenched and he remained slumped, still utterly curled into himself. Voldemort, on the other hand, continued forward. "You know what has to happen now, don't you, Draco?" He approached the balled-up boy's figure, snatching his face upwards by the chin and positioning the end of his crooked wand to Malfoy's neck. Without another word, he drew the wand down, and the white skin at Draco's throat split open. Malfoy whimpered, but the cut was not deep enough to kill him. Instead, a vast amount of fresh blood drooled back out from it, coating his shoulder and drenching him completely. _

_Yet the Dark Lord had not finished with what he'd had planned. Instead, he reached out the palm of his hand, drawing his wand across it as well, and splitting the skin on it open harshly. He did not even wince. Though, when he turned back to Draco, he wasted no time in apprehending him. Once he had split open the skin across his palm, he seized Draco's neck and pressed his bloody hand against it. And his face shifted as he did so, matching Malfoy's distressed expression, his eyes flinching before pressing shut entirely. Yet when he finally backed away, his face had turned; the grimace on his face deepened, more furious with Draco than ever, still determined to make him suffer for his attempt in running away._

_He hissed, "Incarcerous," and a thick, wound rope found its way around Malfoy's bleeding neck. The rotting man shifted, lifting himself up from Malfoy's torso entirely. He ignored the heavy sobs that emitted from his throat, watched him unsympathetically as he coughed and sputtered the blood from his mouth, curling back up into himself. He had lost desire to search for his wand, lost almost any desire to move at all. Though, of course, it was not as if he could have anyway. One of his arms broken, dangling, and useless, Lazarus could tell that the way in which his left leg barely supported him that it was broken. _

_Lucius Malfoy's son swayed, his hands gripping on the roots of his famously blond hair. He choked out something about Goyle, sobbed incomprehensibly about his father, and then broke down completely. However, Voldemort only passed a blank stare back on to the lot of his followers that had him surrounded. "Leave him."_

_There was a strong tug at the end of the rope around Malfoy's neck and for the third time he was jerked backwards. Beaming, Fenir Greyback stood at the other end, and he took great pleasure in dragging him back. He shifted, moving him along the wheat grass, watching the boy's feet struggle, his arms attempt to free himself at the neck. Yet, as predicted, his struggle came to no use. He was forced back into a large trunk of the crooked tree, and Fenir wrapped the end of the rope around it, securing him there at the end. Much to his satisfaction, Draco had stopped trying. Instead, he lie lifelessly on the ground, his broken limbs sticking out painfully before him. And the severity of his wounds had seemed to finally hit him; as the moments passed, more and more he seemed to finally submit to unconsciousness. _

_"Now, be a good boy," Fenir taunted, nudging Draco's cheek with his barefoot. Voldemort's black figure had vanished completely from sight. Only Bellatrix, Fenir, Amycus, Alecto, and Yaxley remained left behind. They stood at a slight distance, staring eagerly back into the woods that followed the clearing all the way back to the Manor. Finally, the werewolf turned on his heel, retreating away. He was followed by the four others, all moving whimsically in the night. Though Amycus, however, could not resist; as he passed, he shoved the end of his hard heel into Draco's bloody nose._

_Then, they'd gone, as quickly as they'd come. And, for a moment, Lazarus stood still, watching as Draco's body heaved in desperately for air. On the ground he didn't move, didn't even try and attempt to manage lifting himself. It seemed that something had faltered from him- Voldemort's blood literally ran through his veins, and the notion had made him ill and unimaginably weak. Nonetheless, he stayed rooted, fixated to the trunk of the black tree by the end of his noose-like leash. And above the clouds twisted, cackling thunder up ahead and echoing around him eerily, as if adding intensely to his misery. _

_But the scene was still going, and Lazarus knew that it was because Malfoy's memory had not ended. And Lazarus stood over him, his eyes wide with disbelief. He was not even completely certain how long he'd stood over the boy, watching him stare up at the sky, his eyes tearful and glazed over completely. He looked crushed, absolutely destroyed. He appeared to realize that no one was going to come for him, at least not any time soon. He knew that his father could not, had probably not been informed of the situation anyway. A connection seemed to have been made; he would lie there until he was permitted a release, or lie there until he bled to death._

_The boy's gray eyes rolled back in his head, struggling for another breath. But despite everything, he was still fractionally conscious. He sobbed, the last of the night, and finally, his slender body stilled. As Draco slipped eventually into complete unconsciousness, Lazarus could feel himself being pulled away from the scene and the wheat field entirely._

* * *

When Lazarus Patel stumbled back out from the surface water of the Penseive, he had a rather distinct look on his face that was both prolifically horrified and unquestionably daunted. His features were paled, and his eyes were slumped downwards, glossy with what might have been tears. He breathed, heavily with a struggle, and felt for his throbbing temples, light headed and completely winded. "That," he said, shaking his head back and forth and wagging a finger at the Penseive, "was horrifying."

Elaine Galler's face remained blank; she had been suspecting such a reaction. Yet Dr. Bowen's face was twisted with outrage, "and what does this prove?" he asked, lifting his hands wildly. "Mr. Malfoy lived in a house with a bunch of Death Eaters. His life was bound to be undesirable, yet it was something he choose..."

"He didn't," panted Lazarus, who had stumbled back, pressed against the stone wall. Sweat poured down his face, made him shiny, and Hermione felt her own figure drain drastically. Nonetheless, Lazarus was persistent. He insisted, "he was trying to run away." A intense hush fell upon the room, and Malfoy's body remained still and graciously peaceful without the burdens of a bad dream. "They had him trapped... a-a storm, and a big field of wheat." The man's face was red with exhaustion, but he continued. "Voldemort definitely preformed some sort of spell; he slashed his neck, and gave him his blood."

"So," the Judge at the front lifted a brow, "Ms. Granger's theory is right; Mr. Malfoy's not mentally unstable."

Lazarus shook his head sternly; no.

Thus, the head of the room lowered his shoulders. It was not, however, done so with defeat. Instead, a relieved tone of voice overtook his previously strong one. In turn, Elaine Galler's posture softened, her expression simplifying with an equal amount of excessive relaxation. She looked down at Draco, her hand running though his sweaty hair, smoothing it back behind his ears and away from his face. She looked overtly pleased when the Judge continued out loud. "The court rules in favor of Mr. Malfoy. He will be released from Hobb's after tomorrow, where they can keep a watchful eye on him until he wakes up," he said; Dr. Bowen gaped, but remained silent. "From there, he may gather his things and return home. Furthermore, a rather intense scrutiny will be taken over your institute, Dr. Bowen..."

And the declaration took a moment to hit Hermione the most. She stood frozen, unable to smile, but really, unable to move at all. Her body shook and his fists clenched, and it was her turn to feel light headed. Her hand flew to her mouth, a happy sob rising in her chest. Her eyes found Malfoy as they pooled over tearfully, watching the courtroom sigh and make their exits. And she watched the Ministry Men regain their positions at Malfoy's stretcher, leading him out from the room. The others followed along, clearing the space and leaving Hermione alone for only a moment.

So she positioned herself on the ground, because the room would just not stop spinning, and smiled to no one in particular.

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**Vonne: **Long, long, long chapter... but not the end. ;)


	30. The Madcap Laughs

**Vonne: **Hello, again! This chapter is slightly on the longer side, and I'm definitely excited to have it done. There are _still _six more chapters to follow this one, so, you know something bad still hasn't happened yet... something still hasn't come to a close. But, you're going to have to keep reading to find out what. Now, to get back to you all, and then, finally, chapter twenty-nine.

**Pearlrose33: **You're extremely welcome! I'm glad that I fit all that I wanted to do in that last chapter! Thank _you_ for being the first to review it! And, to be honest, I'm not sure how they're going to get Malfoy's blood clean again. I'm not certain they'll be able to. Malfoy's just going to have to try and maintain a stress-free life from now on. Maybe it'll be easier with Hermione. You'll find out what Draco thinks when he wakes up in this chapter. But Lucius and Narcissa will definitely come in later. I'm glad you're so interested in finding out more, you definitely motivate me!

**Corey Fitzwilliam: **Thank you so much! I'm so glad that you liked the last chapter, because I worked so long and hard on it. I'm definitely happy that it came to some good use.

**Weather Watch: **Oh good! I'm glad that you liked the last chapter, as well. Happy chapters are always a good change every once in a while. But, knowing me, they might not last long. Well, keep your fingers crossed for a happy ending. I might just be typical and make it horrifying! ;)

**Ali-Lou: **I literally just recently got in to the whole Draco and Hermione shipping, but I must say, I find it rather exciting. Its a whole new relationship to explore, and I really like that side of writing it. That's not to say that I don't like Ron and Hermione together, either, because I do- I really do. But I like a challenge, and besides, Draco is just too much fun.

**Doni: **Thank you so much! I'm glad you liked it! I hope you like this one, as well. I tried to keep it on the longer side.

**Alice Wednesday: **It was coming sooner or later, Draco just had to suffer a little bit before he was released from Hobb's too easily. And, low and behold, he's still not out of the building just yet. Who knows? Something could be waiting around that corner of his. ;)

**Tragic Slytherin: **I'm sorry! In your time zone, I probably am always updating at night, huh? Oh well, I've managed to make this chapter a happy one, so hopefully it will be a lot better to read before bed. Fingers crossed!

**Voldyismyfather: **Okay! Because you asked so nicely! :)

**MCLanna: **Thank you very much! I hope you like this chapter, too.

Special thanks to those who reviewed after this was updated and finished. I'm sorry I could not get to you in time.

**

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**Chapter Twenty-Nine:  
The Madcap Laughs**

_The wind blew rapidly around the man whose broad shoulders sat sore and aching at the edge of his neck. His eyes scanned, nonetheless desperate to find what it was that he was looking for. Yet the view ahead of him stretched vastly outwards. It was golden with rows of swaying grasses of wheat- rows and rows and rows of wheat. However, it was not the type of golden that sparkled with the indication of something valuable or desirable. No; instead, the golden strands of dry grass took on the color mockingly, dull beyond its minute range of melancholy. In fact, the color made Lucius Malfoy's head spin; he hoped that the field's unusual sense of damnation did not imply death. _

_Desperation filled the chest of the man who had once considered himself rich. But what was he now? In a dirty white button up, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, he barely resembled anything more than a broken being. He'd once had everything- once had a beautiful and happy wife, once had a smart and obedient son. All that had gone with the wind now; his wife was not happy, and really, Lucius did not know much about his son. With bitter self-resentment, Lucius Malfoy realized that it was, after all, his fault that he had lost so much. He'd forced his son into his position, forced him into the house with a group full of miserable and nasty people. He regretted it now, as he walked through the field frantically; more than anything, he wanted to find his son._

_Lucius' eyes studied his surroundings. He did not know much about the wheat field, but he was certain that, somewhere in the brush, was Draco Malfoy. It was Peter Pettigrew who had given him the slip; though, it was by accident and more forcefully taken from him than anything. But Lucius couldn't help himself. He'd searched for his son everywhere before cornering the mousey little man and placing one of his heavy hands around his disgustingly thick neck. "The wheat field!" the man had insisted, his face turning purple with lack of ample oxygen. "He's in the wheat field, I swear."_

_And that's where he'd gone- the wheat field. It rest some ways from the back of the Manor itself. The sky above it had just begun to shed the first tears of a rather brutal storm in its infancy. "Draco!" the man called out, excessive amounts of sweat dripping from his face. He was tired, and he was forlorn, and he was miserable. And, oh God, he was desperate- desperate for his son, his one and only son. How could he, as a father, allow for this to happen? How could he, as a father, not seen it coming? How could he, as a father, make it better? _

_"Draco!" he bellowed, calling over the thunder in the sky and the crunches at his feet. "Draco!"_

_Then he saw him; his long, slender legs bent and twisted, his arms at his side, his hair a mess, and his neck tied tightly with the bindings of an impressively thick rope. He was looped to the trunk of the single tree in the distance, and his face was covered with blood. Lucius' pace doubled- tripled- and he darted towards the figure of Draco Malfoy with an entirely new onset of feeble desperation. And when he'd reached him, he collapsed at his side, not knowing what to do first. Nonetheless, he thrust his head down, placing his ear on Draco's bloody chest. He held his breath and listened for a heart beat. Then when one finally came, he lifted his palms to the boy's cheeks. "Draco," he asked aloud, this time in a tone that was gentle and careful. "Draco, wake up."_

_But the boy did not stir. Instead, he remained dangling, his upper torso settled in his father's arms, his neck bruised with the harsh lash of the rope around him. The oldest of the two leaned forward. His fingers found the knot at the end of the rope, and nerves intensified frantically. And, despite his desperation, his fingers fumbled; he was too nervous, too grief-ridden. Though indirectly, he had done this to his son. He had permitted it by putting him in danger's way... had permitted it by allowing Draco to live in the same house with these people. And yet, despite his grief, his mistake had already been made. He was too far gone... he'd been with the Death Eaters and their Dark Lord far too long. Leaving would mean death, and not just for Draco._

_"Draco, son... please. You need to wake up now, okay?" Lucius Malfoy's tone changed. He took on the role of the father, and one who loved his son very much so, despite popular belief. The previously proud men had diverted. His shoulders dropped and he talked to his boy, despite his unconscious state, as if a new father to an infant. He brushed lightly the sweaty hair sticking to the side of his son's face. He pulled off the loose cloth from around his white shirt sleeve and formed it into a sort of gauze for the deep wound that had been carved into Draco's neck. "Draco," he tried again, brushing Malfoy's cheek lightly with the back of his palm, "Draco, listen to me..."_

_On the wheat floor beneath his father, Draco Malfoy's facial expression tightened; his eyebrows knotted together and his face formed into a pout. Lucius couldn't help himself; he gasped relieved, his face reddening with ease. "Draco," he asked, leaning in closer so that he could help the boy lift his head, "can you hear me?"_

_Wincing, Malfoy's eyes lifted slightly and then fell back down again. But the flicker did not stop. He moaned, painfully, and his fingers unclenched. His head stung immensely with the sway of lightheadedness, and his throat ached with the pains of something severe. Weakly, he lifted his bad arm, only to have it fumble back down with a painful yelp. "D-Dad?" coughed Draco._

_He couldn't see him or, at least, not exactly. Instead, he could feel the man's overwhelming presence. It was a slightly warm and safe feeling, as if Malfoy were twelve years old... idolizing his father like the role model he had been so foolish to have thought he once was. Yet, Draco was not thinking of all the mistakes his father had made; in fact, he really didn't care about any of them. He was happy that he had been wrong in his assumptions of solidarity. His father had found him, and that was all that really mattered. _

_When Lucius' fingers worked back down at the rope again, he found success in his newly revived calm. Though he had been stripped of his wand only one week earlier, he knew that making due was now necessary more than ever. And, despite his desperation for magic, he felt relieved when the knot around Draco's neck came undone, slackening before falling from the boy's slumped shoulders entirely. Thus, Lucius leaned forward, hoisting Draco to his chest, keeping his upper torso off of the hard ground and holding him there minutely. What was he going to do? He had not been permitted to have gone to retrieve Draco from the field. Surely, Voldemort would be furious. Common sense should have told him to stay home, but he just could not sit there and think... think about his son, lost in the gold scenery, struggling to breath, slowly waking up alone._

_And at the sudden heaving of his son in his chest, Lucius was taken aback. Draco was crying. As the rain begun to slowly drizzle upon father and son, Lucius Malfoy was not sure he had physically seen his son cry in years. Certainly he had heard Draco in the middle of the night; and he definitely had seen the sadness in his eyes, but the literal act of witnessing Draco break down had come as a complete shock to him. His seventeen year old kid- who wasn't even really that much of a kid anymore- just couldn't handle it. And neither could Lucius, now that he was being honest with himself. "Draco," mused the man, his hands around Malfoy's shoulders, holding him close, "I'm so sorry." Malfoy's forehead only pressed harder into the chest of his parent. He didn't say a word. "This was never supposed to happen."_

_He grazed Draco's shoulders, pulling him back slightly- and the boy was a distinctive mess. His hair had been bloody and red, almost dyed and styled that was with stiffness and bruising. His left eye was swelled shut, and the black and blue tint circling the other one was painful to look at. His shoulder dangled uselessly; his mouth was mixed with spit and blood. In a weird way, his legs struck outward. Lucius' face contorted, he begged his son to say something. When Draco swallowed, he did so with a half-yelp. "Dad," he said, "I don't feel so good."_

_Lucius' visage crumpled responsively. "I know," he said dumbly, because he did know, but he was more blatantly useless to try and help._

_"I-I... j-just... c-can we go... home?" Draco asked, delirious and dizzy. The blood from his wounds had flowed out from his skin excessively. He was loosing too much of it, but he was too far gone to notice it much. His eyes swelled up, overflowing rapidly. "I just want to go home, dad," he said, his expression falling. He hadn't meant to come off as hazy as he had, and he felt more like someone had drugged him than anything. It was just such a strange feeling, and he wondered how hard exactly he had hit his head._

_He felt his stomach drop when his father told him lightly, "in a bit, Draco, in a bit... just not now, okay? Stay with me, but we can't go back just yet." Even Lucius could not help the chill that went up his spine. He was afraid, afraid of returning back there... back to his very own house. When Draco's body heaved with a new set of sobs, Lucius said again, "we will, I promise... just stay with me. Just a bit longer, okay Draco? Just a bit..."_

_Lucius scooted himself back up against the trunk of the lumbering tree behind him. He took hold of Draco's droopy hand and slung it around his own neck. Sympathy washed over him when Draco moaned, hurt from the impact of having to use his father as support. However, he did not possess the strength to pull away. Instead, he let himself be dragged gently, letting his skull rest on Luciu's shoulder, sobbing harder at the reminder that he would not be able to go home and get some much needed sleep. Lucius made his way towards the tree and rooting himself in the spot right at its roots. He stood for a second, securing his son's shoulders before gently helping him to the ground again. Malfoy's face twisted and he reached up to wipe away his tears with his good hand._

_Malfoy just wanted to feel the comfort of his mother again. Still, Lucius kept him upright. He positioned his son against his lap, smoothing his blond hair back and exposing his pale face. Then, the man breathed out. Draco's body had stopped shaking; he'd fallen asleep again, but his chest rose and fell with breaths that were heavy and normal and trustful. He remained staring down at him, watching Malfoy's face slip into a deeper state of unawareness. He moaned with eh onset of sleep, let his eyes flutter with the experience of a dream. It had been quite some time since Lucius Malfoy had seen his son up close, and he couldn't help but be a bit surprised to find how much he had grown. Still, the anxiety in his own chest drew him back and, submissively, he dropped his head back against the tree and shut his eyes._

_

* * *

_Draco Malfoy woke up from his dream to find that he was back in his room at Hobb's. Something, however, was different. He did not feel the discomfort of restraints on his wrists, and he felt joy in the absent feeling of drugs in his system. He was lying in his bed, positioned underneath the covers, but he did not feel like a patient. He was dressed as such, but the clean feeling of something made him anxious. His hair fell across his face in a lively and washed manner and his fingers felt against his face to find that he had been patched up and stitched. He moved with a sense of inquiry, his eyes scanning his surroundings before even shifting from his spot on the pale white mattress at all.

"Geez, mate, finally." Malfoy's previous serenity had been broken. His face shifted and he nearly fell from his bed, adjusting his eyes to the light to find that there was a man seated directly there in front of him. He wore a smile and a nice suit. His hair was combed back and he smelled of cologne instead of liquor. His eyes were smiling, yet glossy, and he leaned closer in towards Draco in a matter that was rather warm and gentle. "I was starting to feel like a bit of a lunatic myself, here," the man joked, "I've been watching you sleep for hours."

"Goyle?" Draco coughed, squinting. Gregory Goyle nodded, his flabby neck bobbing up and down excitedly as he did so. Malfoy did a double take; Hobb's was just still as dark and as eerie as it had always been, but somehow it felt less so with the comfort of not being alone. Malfoy couldn't help it; an excited chuckle escaped from his throat and he strained to lift himself up from the mattress and meet his level.

But Goyle whole-heartedly objected. "Wouldn't do that if I were you, mate," he beamed, "you should take it easy, you know?" Then he gestured to the sterile white room around him. With a wink, he turned back towards his best friend mischievously. "Take advantage of the free room, if you catch my drift."

"Err- free room?"

"Guess you didn't hear the news then, did you?" Goyle asked, teasingly. He relished in the excitement of being able to tell him what he had wanted to hear. "Draco, mate, the court ruled in your favor! You're not insane!" He was shaking his head, yet he still could hardly contain himself in the process. "You can leave here! You get to go home!"

Malfoy took a new and fresh glance around the room. It looked the same, but the presence of a huge weight had been lifted. He didn't feel shut down, didn't feel held there. There was something about him half-sitting on the bed that made him comfortable, instead of jittery. He didn't even feel it when his face started to crumble, didn't even notice when his eyes started to water. "I c-can...?" he asked aloud, still not certain he had heard Goyle correctly. He was shaking far too much, perhaps a bit to anxious to spit out a proper sentence.

"Hermione's doing," Goyle shrugged, still beaming, "she got the court to look into your head." Goyle tapped his skull with the end of his chubby finger, still smiling toothily. He said with excitement, "they've seen it all, mate... you're not crazy, just... just hexed!" The larger man was grabbing onto his chin, leaning forward. And his eyes watched Malfoy, who seemed to have been locked in a state of complete shock. He glanced down at his scared wrists and his stitched up torso, and nothing about it seemed to worry him. He wasn't a patient at Hobb's anymore. He wasn't insane, and he wasn't trapped. He couldn't help the shakes that overtook his body, but he couldn't help the happy sobs that overtook his chest, either.

"... H-H-Hermione?"

"Turns out she _is_ a bloody know-it-all," Goyle smirked.

For the first time in a long time, Draco Malfoy smiled. It was a slight one, but a smile nonetheless, and he shook unsteadily on his mattress. With uneasy hands, he pushed away his hair from his face, and cleaned his front free from the tears that dripped down his cheeks. He looked at the white sheets that had been covering his lower half, then he looked at the white walls that had been chipping from every corner all around him. He remembered everything about the room with a blink of sheer humiliation. He could almost see the ghosts of the room as they leapt right in front of his very eyes. He remembered the long nights, being dragged into the white-walled bedroom. He remembered feeling miserable on drugs, and hazy on pills. On nights when he would wake up from his drug induced sleep, he recalled staring at the white walls, dried salivia on his face, and seeing the flash of the watchful eye in the corner of the room, or the hallucinated image of Hermione Granger; she had only made him miss her more. Draco Malfoy knew that he could not stay in that spit encrusted, blood spattered, and rusty bed anymore. He had been in the putrid thing for what felt like a lifetime, and he shook as he tried to lift his weak body out of it.

Goyle's face fell. "Hey, Draco," he started holding his hands out as if he were about to catch him, " I don't think you're supposed to be... the drugs are only just wearing off, mate, you shouldn't be..." Malfoy shook his aching head and swallowed. He didn't answer; instead he tried to remain focus on the tile below him, positioning his bare feet on it as if he had never walked before in his life. But Goyle insisted, "Draco, you need to relax for a while."

The blond's spidery fingers clutched the railing of his bed and he uneasily stood with his back hunched. Goyle had been right, however; the drugs were just wearing off, but he was not completely free of them just yet. His head rushed and his mind faltered. He felt a chilly and clammy feeling in his limbs. No hallucinations came, however. At the lack of stress, Draco experienced a welcomed peace that he relished in the absense of Voldemort at his side.

However, despite being free from his horrifying visions, Draco stumbled forward. He felt with his free fingers to the long tube sticking out from his arm and yanked it out of him hastily. A loud gawking noise came from Goyle, whose figure lunged from the small seat instantly. But Malfoy shrugged him off silently. He inched away from the bed finally, taking refuge in the minute spot of free space before it, and then instantly lost his footing.

He collided with the floor in a sudden motion, thudding to the ground with his back perched up against the edge of the mattress. He gave a slight groan and placed his face in his hands. He'd never felt more tired in his life.

"I hate to be a son-of-a-bitch, Draco, but you need to go back to bed," Goyle said, bending over and peering down at the crumbled figure of his newly freed friend.

Malfoy shook his head again; it felt heavy on his shoulders. "I don't want to go to sleep," Malfoy mumbled. He didn't want to sleep in the bed again. "I don't even want to be in this damn room."

Goyle's face fell. He lifted a meaty hand and clamped Draco on the back slightly. He gave Malfoy's drooped head a timid little smile. "I know, mate, but its not for much longer. Then you get your things back..." A little more happily he said, "I bet you've missed your wand after all this time, huh?"

It was true; Malfoy hadn't seen his wand in months. He'd felt useless, almost out of place without it. Although instead of expressing his anxiety over his seperation from it, he said instead, "I've missed 'Mione..."

Goyle cleared his throat. He stood with his own back hunched over, and his arm still rest supportively on Draco's slumped shoulders. It had taken Goyle a while to swallow the idea of his best mate and Hermione Granger together, but now he had considered himself quite neutral to it. He certainly didn't _like_ her just yet, but he respected her and what she'd done for Malfoy. With a twinge of appreciation, he knew that Malfoy would have spent his entire life in Hobb's without her intervention. Thus, he had dropped a fraction of his previous assumptions about her. And maybe, just maybe, if Draco saw something in her, then Goyle would too... in time.

Nonetheless, he couldn't deny the miserable expression on Draco's pale face. He lifted his hand again and patted Draco gently on the back, supportive and gentle. "I know, mate," he said, his tone growing a little more solemn and sympathetic.

Draco sighed, pushing his head back and leaning it up against the end of the mattress. His watery eyes scanned the ceiling, and then he glanced back down, embarrassed. "What was wrong with me?" he asked nervously, and for the first time Goyle could see a slight bit of relaxation in his gaze.

"Hexed," Goyle repeated again, still squatting. He took in a large inhale of breath and settled down, leaning back up against the asylum bed with a posture that matched Draco's rather closely. "I overheard the conversation," Goyle continued, "sneaking through the halls." His eyes twinkled; after all this time, he still could be a sneaky bastard. However, his expression dropped; something about adding more to the story made him uncomfortable, but he knew that it had to be said. "Draco?" he asked, once again creating a flat expression.

"Hm?" Malfoy asked, looking up at the ceiling.

Goyle did not hesitate. He lowered his focus, looking back at Malfoy with a sense of curiosity. The sad look on his face did not shift, yet he decisively explained, "they said Voldemort cut into your neck. They said that you have his blood mixed with yours now." Draco did not say a word; instead, he remained only staring, his vision blinded by a sense of a new glassiness that fogged his focus over. "Draco," Goyle began again, turning his head back to Malfoy, "when was that? You never said anything about that."

Malfoy's face twisted. The scar on his neck stung, reminding him of its permanent presence, and he felt knots in his stomach. "I tried to escape," he said drily.

Goyle nodded, "I remember," he said, wincing. "But _that,"_ he said, jerking his thumb to the pink mark, "I don't."

Shaking his head, Draco swallowed. "You weren't there; it was just me and the wheat field a bit back behind the house."

"He did that to you?" Goyle inquired again, his eyes scanning Draco's neck wildly.

Malfoy's face grew red and his throat backed up. His eyes spilled over slightly yet Draco shoved them away hastily in hopes that Goyle couldn't see them. "Among other things," he said with a shrug.

The room fell silent, and both boys suddenly felt trapped in it. And Goyle shifted his posture, scooting on the titled floor uselessly, as if trying to find something proper enough to say. He mulled the thought over, trying not to stare too long at the unsightly scar on Draco's white neck. It wasn't as if the scar was one of many, either. Draco's torso had been lined with them, among bruises and open wounds that would need further work. And yet the history behind the one on his neck gave Goyle the chills. He couldn't focus and he couldn't think; yet, he remembered that night with severe certainty. Nonetheless, he winced, swallowing a large lump in his throat.

Fiddling with his hands, Goyle searched for something sufficient to say. The room was too silent, too strained and too strange. But it wasn't as if Goyle had forgotten about the night; no, he couldn't have. Blinking blindly, he remembered the shadow that had passed by his bedroom, and he recalled with anxiety waking up to find Draco's shaking shadow in the corner of the room. He was in tears, and Goyle could tell it had been one of those nights for him; he'd had another nightmare. But something about his actions were different. He looked fed up and ready, something about his demeanor signified that he'd had to get out. "Draco"? Goyle remembered whispering, hoping not to be heard by the Death Eaters downstairs, "what's wrong?"

"This!" Draco Malfoy had exclaimed. There was a harsh and bitter undertone in his voice; he truly had lost it. He was nothing more than a broken boy, a numb shade in the night of the wallpapered room. "This is wrong, Goyle," he cried, "it's all wrong... we've got to g-get out of here." But Goyle hadn't volunteered, and neither had Crabbe. The two had sat perched, dumbstruck in their beds, clinging to their dirty white sheets. When Draco was certain that he wasn't going to be granted the sanctuary of company, he only shook his head, shaking with the set of unmistakable nerves. "I'll be in the wheat field, until tomorrow. And," he said, shivering, "when the Death Eaters leave tomorrow, tell my parents. Have them find me..."

"Your parents?" Crabbe had spat, "Draco, don't be daft!" he seemed more angry than confused, more bitter than worried. "Your father isn't going to go anywhere; and once they find you, you'll be dead! This is suicide."

"I h-heard them t-talking, Crabbe," Malfoy insisted. He was still pacing around the room, looking dead and heartbroken. "They're going to k-kill thousands of people... kids! At the school... and they want u-us to do it." Tears were running down his face. He looked as if he had just been sick. Two massive bags marked his face; Draco certainly had suffered many sleepless nights.

"This isn't news!" Crabbe had snapped, "and when they ask me to do it, I'll be ready."

"Draco," Goyle had protested, his face red with anxiety. He was nervous and on the verge of tears. "Please, go back to bed, okay?" He'd tried to coax him, tried to get him to change his mind and rest his head. But Malfoy was hardly even listening. Instead he was focused again on the ghosts, on the horrors of what he knew would only just haunt him in his future. It was something he'd told Crabbe and him over and over again on countless nights. Crabbe, nonetheless, had expected that this night was coming; Goyle had been more optimistic. He'd hoped that Draco wouldn't do anything stupid. "You'll be killed!"

And Draco, he knew that he couldn't win. Thus, Goyle remembered how he'd left; through the window and out the backyard. They'd watched him rush off into the night, and Goyle could remember how his entire stomach twisted. He remembered the desire to call out to stop him, but the fear of yelling too loudly had halted him from doing so. There was no note and nothing had been packed. Yet he'd taken his wand, and Goyle had known that something was not right. It was the night that the Death Eaters had knocked down the door, and they were yelling and shouting. Goyle had woken up instantly, surprised to see that his room had been turned upside down, that Crabbe was already on his feet and at the ready. Fenir was the first to make his move. He curled forward, extending his wand outwards, and Goyle could see the immense drip of sweat pooling down his ghastly face. He snarled, "where is he?"

Something about the night needed to be said. "I didn't say anything, you know," Goyle said to Draco back in the room at Hobb's after a while.

"I know," Draco responded. "Crabbe did."

Goyle sat silent. He didn't say a word, but only leaned back against the end of the bed as well; his eyes scanned the ceiling. "What happened?" he asked, because he knew that he would never find the bravery to ask him ever again. "That night? When they found you out there?"

Malfoy flinched. However, he kept his eyes up on the ceiling. What did he have left to loose? He'd gone so far, and Goyle had witnessed it all. Yet with the news of his release from Hobb's, Draco was far too happy to object. Nonethless, the sadness still crushed him. He felt timid and childish as he put off answering. However, he managed to mumble and, at least, that was a start. "Cruicator's Curse," he said hoarsely. Then, he scrunched up his nose. "Yaxley punched me."

Goyle shook his head. That wasn't what he'd meant. "You broke your shoulder and your leg," he said, "you had a... a m-massive _rope _burn," he drew a circle around his own neck with his finger, "around your neck."

Malfoy shrugged, feeling his chest drop. "That would make sense," he said simply.

"For fuck's sake, Draco..." Goyle breathed, "give me something to work with here." He, too, was red with the awkwardness, yet his face still remained perched upwards, avoiding contact as well.

Malfoy chewed his bottom lip. He wasn't mad with Goyle for being frustrated; in fact, he really understood the aggravation. Thus, he remained still for a moment, thinking back and keeping his bruised palms on the chilly tile floor below him. "Incarcerous," he told the walls. He looked like he had been on the verge of tears, "around my neck and at the end of a tree."

"Oh." Goyle said solemnly. Then he dropped his head, scanning the floor. He wondered how he had managed to turn a mood that was so uplifted into something so awfully tragic. "Sorry."

Draco, for the third time in the night, shook his head. "Don't be," he muttered, "you and Crabbe were right; I shouldn't have left." A new silence overtook the room, and Draco was glad to find that he hadn't lost his composure completely. Swallowing, he asked, "what about you?"

"Cruicator's curse." Goyle said, turning back to Draco. His face was blank, and he looked both sad and accepting at the same time. He smiled, nudging Draco in the ribs. He was boney, almost too boney. "I still didn't tell them, you know." Malfoy glanced down for the first time and looked back at Goyle. There was an overwhelming expression of appreciative gratitude in his eyes. He looked as if he were still very close to bursting out in tears, yet Goyle was impressed at how well he'd managed to remain somewhat happy. When Draco gave a happy little laugh, Goyle's smile doubled. "It really _pissed _Fenir and Yaxley off, too- my stubbornness."

Malfoy's boyish grin crossed back over his face. He didn't bother to push his disobedient blond hair from his face. "I bet Yaxley threw a fit."

"You missed it," Goyle beamed, "he was as red as a bloody tomato!"

Laughing, Draco's head fell forward. He looked happy, truly happy- but still drugged, nonetheless. However, Goyle couldn't have been more satisfied. He was certain his joke had not been that humorous, yet Draco's release had certainly helped to lighten the mood. But that was okay, that was all he had needed. Things were starting to look up, and he couldn't have cared less whether or not Draco had truly found him to be humorous. "Looks like you still are a bit loopy, then," Goyle chuckled, referring to the drugs. "It wasn't that funny."

Draco glanced up, his face red and teary. "I don't know why I'm laughing," he admitted, settling down, but keeping his smile present.

"Because you're high as a fucking kite." Goyle joked.

Malfoy's eyes glistened. He chuckled for the last time and wiped away his tears from his face. He looked so young again, so refreshed, despite his scars. "I think its because I'm happy."

They smiled back and forth at one another. It didn't matter that they'd seen each other at their worst; they had made it through everything. And though Draco had Hermione, he was glad to have had a friend- a best friend, who had been with him through every single thing. He'd struggled with the same ordeal he had gone through. And, it helped to know that he was not alone. Goyle's face twisted from being shocked, to overjoyed. He gave Draco a dopey grin and said jokingly, "well, it's about time."

"Thanks, Goyle," Draco muttered, "I'm sorry I was such a pain in the arse to deal with."

Goyle scoffed sarcastically, "when are you not?"

"And thanks for not telling on me all those years ago."

Beaming, Goyle shrugged. He teased, "you got lucky."

Leaning back, Draco made himself comfortable. "I'll say," he admitted. He made the decision to crawl back to his feet. Thus, in a fraction-like movement, he grabbed back to the side of the bed mattress and pulled himself to his shaking feet. Once again, Goyle opened his mouth to object, but Draco was far too determined to stand. And he'd found himself rather surprised when he'd managed to do so, too. Quivering to a proper stand point on his feet, he smiled proudly when he was able to use the railing structure for a better balance. Then his focus fell. "Oh."

Struck into Draco's left arm rest another tube. It was far bigger and far longer than the other, and it had been taped into place by a big, massive strip of gauze. Though something made it different from the other tube, which was inactive and rather useless. This one had been pumping a slight amount of what looked like an off-white liquid into his blood stream. Draco made a face, he hadn't noticed the tube before. "I'm really, really tired of being drugged."

Tilting his head, Goyle took in the long, clear tube. He said, "it just makes you tired."

"Yeah, well," Draco yawned, "I'm tired of being tired. Help me get it out."

Goyle brought himself up to his own feet. His action was much more swift and direct that Draco's. Yet his face remained horrified with the realization that Draco's main ambition was to break the rules of the asylum. "No way!" he yelped, "you're bloody insane." Draco cocked up an eyebrow back up at him and, for a split second, Goyle looked apologetic. "Sorry," he quipped, "still too soon to make a joke out of?"

"Just wait a while, mate- at least, until I'm not still wearing the uniform," smiled Draco, turning back to the tube. He dug his fingers around the gauze, peeling it back and exposing the needle that pressed through his skin. "Would you look at that thing?" he exclaimed, lifting his forearm to Goyle's view.

"No, I won't." Goyle huffed, leaning forward with an attempt to grab Draco hastily by the shoulders and direct him back down to the mattress. "Get. In. Bed."

He fixed his fingers on Draco's shoulders, shoving him down forcefully. However, his attempt came with only a fraction of success. Draco's lower body crumpled, and he came to a seated position, his feet still on the tile, with his backside on the surface of the mattress. Draco's attention, nonetheless, was still locked onto the tube. He did not seem to care that he had been pushed downwards, only that the damned tube was still secured to his arm. And he contemplated a way of trying to free himself from it, wriggling his fingers around the space before the needle in serious thought. Goyle's lip stiffened, "stop picking at it," he demanded, only to remain further ignored.

But Draco's hands slipped downwards and he managed to get a well enough grip on the thing. Then, quickly, he gave the tube a slight tug. Without much struggle, the needle was yanked from his arm easily. Malfoy stared down at his bare arm, and then grinned back up at Goyle. "Aha!" he exclaimed proudly. For a moment, the two stared back and forth at each other. Then, wearily, Draco's face slipped back into a familiar haziness. "Put it back in," he said, sickly.

"What?" Goyle cried, "how?"

"I think that was a pain killer," Draco responded, lagging. He could feel the same pain that he'd felt before and his eyes looked half shut as Goyle's hand gripped him around his shoulders. He gently placed Draco back down upon the mattress, a terrified look in his eyes. "Why'd you let me do that?" Draco scoffed, allowing himself to be lowered back onto the bed.

Goyle shook his head, "bloody idiot. That was your fault," he growled only half-joking. When he'd helped Malfoy into bed again, he leaned back and stared back down at him. "Well, now at least you'll pass out and go to sleep. So," he said smugly, "I'm not complaining."

Malfoy's face cringed. "When I wake up, Goyle," he threatened lightly. His eyes grew more weary with every word he spoke. He was loosing consciousness and Goyle was not about to stand around and pretend that he wasn't relieved. "W-When I wake up... 'mmm going t'..."

And, like a light, Malfoy was out. Heaving, Goyle stood with his hands at his side. He was both dumbstruck and satisfied, letting his gaze shift from Draco, to the discarded tube, to Draco again. He stood still, considering taking out his wand and erasing his eyebrows, or writing something vulgar on his face. And he watched Draco snore, mumbling in his sleep things that had nothing to do with nightmares; instead, his sentences didn't even make sense, and Goyle found himself smiling at the sheer ridiculousness of them.

But really, he was glad to have Draco Malfoy back, every bloody inch of him.

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**Vonne: **Six more chapters to go... Draco's still at Hobb's, and so is a certain someone who's had it out for him since the very beginning. Hmmm. Review and let me know what you think!


	31. Of What May Possibly Be an Exit

**Vonne:** This next chapter coming up is going to lead everything down to an end- meaning, everything from the next chapter on will figure itself out. They're going to have Beevis, Bowen, Draco, Hermione, Harry, Ron, Lucius, Goyle, and more! It's everything ended, everything solved! I'm half way finished writing the end of this chapter and then I am going to be starting on an entirely new fiction entitled, "Cellar Door". Please check it out. It is going to be a new long fanfiction involving Hermione and Draco. I had someone worried that it was going to be too romantic, but I can assure you, it is going to be just as realistic as I hoped both 'Radio' and 'Basket Case' were.

Anyways, thank you so much to all those that submitted reviews for the past chapter. I'm so happy to have received so much interest in this story so far! Please forgive me, though, as I have no time today to respond back to all of you. But I can thank you, of course! Thanks to: **Voldyismyfather**, **pearlrose33**, **Doni**, **OanDuress**, **Psychic City**, **Ali-Lou**, **Alice Wednesday**, and, **Tragic Slytherin.**

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**Chapter Thirty:**  
**Of May Possibly Be an Exit**

It was early morning when Draco Malfoy felt the chilly hand on his shoulder that shook him gently to life again. It still felt strange, for a touch so soft to have been directed at him- a lewd sensation that almost made him feel sick with unfamiliarity. And yet, when he'd shaken off the fogginess of sleep, he could see the outline of a male nurse, one that he had not recognized before. He had been standing over him bent low and his hard features were twisted upward into a serious expression that might have been a smile. For a moment, Draco was certain he had found a single worker within Hobb's that had not already loathed him, but when he looked into his expression further, he could sense that it was laced with poised reluctancy.

"Dr. Bowen, would like to have a word, Mr. Malfoy," he said in a simple tone that was flat and falsely unbiased. Still, he stood backwards a ways and waited for Draco to compose himself. And it took a while, at that. Blinking to gain a proper insight onto the room around him, Draco remained pressed up against the pillow, staring back at the hospital room as if wondering why it was that he was still actually there.

"Mmm?" he mumbled, lifting his hand and running it across his face. His head felt numb and fuzzy, still content within the dying prickle of the drugs he'd been poisoned with early on. Though he took a quick sweep around the room with his eyes; Goyle was gone from the chair that sat there empty in front of him. It was only him and the nurse, and he felt an odd freeness involved in not being bound to the bed. Still, however, he graciously remained distant. The man wore the expression of a professional, and Malfoy could tell that he was certainly not in the mood to take on the role of his human alarm clock.

"Dr. Bowen," repeated the stern looking male. He no longer seemed nice to Malfoy, just impatient. "He would like to have a word."

The rushed look of the man made Malfoy's heart leap. He was, however, quite uncertain as to why. He, Draco, was no longer a patient there at Hobb's. Sure, they'd forced him to use his old bedroom for a night, but he had done so without being admitted to the asylum. Although, Malfoy had a hard time avoiding the inevitable. So, he did draw himself from the covers shakily, and he fixed himself in a meek sitting position on the mattress. Clutching the edges, he managed to ask, "err- when will I be allowed home?"

"Mr. Malfoy," the man stated again, "Dr. Bowen is on a strict time limit and, I can assure you, if you would like to move your meeting with him down to the next open spot, I would be happy to-"

Draco's facial expression shifted. He looked mildly embarrassed, but nodded, feeling airy before fumbling out of bed and placing his bare feet once again back on the ground of the tiled floorboards carefully. He yelped when the man took his wrist up without permission to fiddle with the tube of the painkillers that had been pumping into his body. However, he did not remove them; instead, with a simple flick of his wand, he removed the other end of the thing and connected it to a small and portable device. Then, he shoved the wheeled machine into Draco's grip and scurried to the door. And Draco looked up wearily, uneasy of the man's quick pace, but more ready to get out of the hospital entirely. Thus, he stumbled along after him, moving as fast as his sore legs would really allow him. Yet, when he had finally made it out of the boundaries of his room, he was shown to the light of the corridor, and a view of Hobb's that he had never truly seen before.

After all the times that he had been ruthlessly escorted from his room at night, he was certain that the place did not look like it had then. The Hobb's he remembered had crooked walls and chipped paint, was plentiful with rust and missing tiles. Although, his version of the asylum was something new. It had been seemingly repaired within the forty-eight hours that he had been away; new color had been applied to the walls, tile had been placed within the missing spots correctly. Even the ghosts of the mentally sick had been removed. And, though Draco could still hear them wail from their places behind the doors they'd been kept at, everything looked physically peculiar.

Nothing was out of place, everything was perfect.

He could see them leering at him, too, watching them with their eyes as he was led down by their doors by the man in front of him. They made faces and pulled at their hair, shouted pleas and accusations that echoed forever down the long stretch before him. Malfoy could feel his own blood run cold. The notion that he was once one of them had finally caught up to him, sinking in horrifyingly at his very core. He had lived and slept in this place, had become a part of its very being. It had been weeks since they'd kept him here- weeks in a literal Hell for something that Draco had not even done. And he was still there... still within the building, still reminded of every single night, drugged and dazed and sore. He couldn't help it, he wanted out; and for the first time in a long time, he was angry.

Thus, by the time he had been led to the office of Dr. Bowen, he could feel it- his blood was boiling. He was heating up; his heart pounded, his temples beat. His grip on the portable machine next to him had made his palms start to sweat, and he felt as if the pole were about to snap into two separate pieces. His escort didn't seem to notice, or rather care. Yet he pulled open the office door for Malfoy with one swift flick of his wand and cocked his neck into the open space. And the room was dark...

In fact, it was much more dark that Malfoy had anticipated. His hopes of demanding his own release were gone, and timid, he scooted into the room with a new sense of terror. Yet he could see Dr. Bowen sitting there, head buried in an excess of papers, quill dancing up wildly about the temples of his head. He didn't look up when the door closed, didn't even look up when Malfoy's scuffling feet scraped against the cold flooring, or when he winced at the stinging sensation of newly repaired injuries.

Instead, he said only, "have a seat, Mr. Malfoy, I'll be with you in a moment." And Draco, whose lack of confidence had dropped ten-fold, let his hold slacken from the metal pole, and stood dumbstruck before the seat in which he submissively lowered himself into.

He took a quick look around the office. It was the only place he had seen that had not been all cleared up. Everything looked as it had always been- Dr. Bowen's escape, his getaway. As perfect as it was, it had remained. He seemed content, unaware of the distinct change his hospital had underwent, or even to Malfoy sitting there before him. Instead, he let himself dwell on the papers, flipping through them with a determined demeanor that was steady and still, holding true to his lack of urgency in dealing with his former ex-patient. He didn't seem to care that Malfoy was now a free man; no longer the responsibility of the hospital, Draco felt the urge to remind him that he now had a life- one that did not involve waiting around a hospital for hours on end. He wanted to see his mother, wanted to take Goyle for drinks, and Hermione to dinner. He wanted to live life, perhaps even the way that it was intended to be lived.

At least, he just wanted to give it a try.

"Err- Dr. Bowen, I-" Malfoy started, trying to muster up as much confidence he had had within himself before. He was, however, cut off quickly by the steady rise of Bowen's outstretched hand. The gesture was stiff, stern enough to make Malfoy stop in his tracks and consider the motion as somewhat offensive. Yet he remained dully baffled, confused as to how someone so professional could have sunk so low. Nonetheless, Dr. Bowen's hand motion was enough to make Draco stammer. He blinked at the hand, still raised, and watched Dr. Bowen as he forced it back down, still intently interested in his scribbly paperwork.

Draco swallowed, and then started again, a little more flustered. "I just..."

However, he was once again greeted by that same jolting hand, that same act of disrespect and superiority. And it was strange, how Draco still felt so unnaturally inferior. Yet this was the same man who had kept him there, had insisted that he was, in fact, just as crazy as every one of his other patients. "If you'd just... HEY!" Draco could feel it, the same intense bubbling. The old version of Draco Malfoy would have leapt on him, devoured him until he had to let him leave. And, while the new Malfoy was still undeniably present, he couldn't help but feel his old ghosts peck back into his pounding temples without much consent.

His fingers tightened on the edge of the chair, his eyes watching Bowen with a look that was both hurt and enormously confused. _"Listen to me!"_

Dr. Bowen lost his concentration; in the air, the whirling quill stopped moving. Everything seemed silent, and only Draco's heavy breaths filled the empty room completely. He kept his face still, until he perhaps had even realized the severity of his outburst in the first place. And then, slowly, he let his facade slip, glancing down to his lap timidly while trying to mask the embarrassment that casually overtook him.

"I'd appreciate it," Dr. Bowen said, finally looking up from his desk top, "if you'd mind your manners in my office building, Draco." His voice was strong and still, unfazed by Draco in the chair ahead of him, and his face was twisted into that of blatant outrage. Thus, Malfoy remained furiously silent, staring a hole into the floorboard while trying to fight up the urge to just get up and walk out of the building entirely. It was his wand and his fear of their remaining authority that had been keeping him; something about his uneasy posture kept him further rooted to the spot. However, Dr. Bowen did not waste much time. In a tone that was equally as bitter, he continued on shortly. "Now, I'm sure you know why I've asked you here."

Draco's shoulders dropped. With a single laugh that was slightly sad and frustrated, he said, "no, I don't, actually."

"Excuse me?" Dr. Bowen's eyebrows were arched and he leaned in closer across the top of his table.

And softly, Draco shook his head, sinking down lower within himself. "I... err..." he stammered, pressing his eyes shut in attempts to further grasp the situation. The pain medications made him a bit fuzzy, keeping him both tired and anxious at the same time. Thus, he remained whispering so that he would not possibly be mistaken for hostile. "I don't know w-why you've asked me here."

Quickly, the asylum director shifted. He leaned back, still happy with his position of authority, and crossed his arms along his chest. "I called you here this morning to let you know that you have been released from this institution, until further notice. I've had your belongings delivered back to your room." He held his expression there still, as if he were truly waiting for Draco's own personal input. Yet his tired eyes only watched, holding the passing time as if he were truly the real possessor of it all. But only Malfoy wasn't clear on what he should have been saying. There was something so strange about still being in the room, still being in the chair, still feeling as if he were a patient all over again.

He knew he didn't have to be there, didn't have to give Dr. Bowen the time of day. Yet the look on the man's face was all the more bitter- the passing moments only seemed to fuel his hatred. And Malfoy did the only thing he could manage to do at that moment. Nodding, he found it in him to offer the man a slight smile. "Err-" he stammered slowly, "thanks."

Dr. Bowen huffed. He did not return his focus back on his papers. In fact, he leaned forward, his fingers touching each elbow, and considered Malfoy's pale front carefully before speaking out loud to him again. There was something about his hard stare that made Malfoy nervous, almost anxious to get up and go. Dr. Bowen finally inhaled before saying, "you can repay me in gratitude when you are able to prove to the Wizarding World that you are fit enough to live a stable lifestyle, Draco." And when he'd finished, he shook his head, more than ready to continue. Thus, he sternly counteracted. "Until then, I advise you not to be so eager."

And Draco, quite honestly, had found himself dumbstruck. Hadn't he just been proven sane in a court of law? Had he not been deemed acceptable in the Head of the Ministry's eyes? Certainly Dr. Bowen had been only teasing him. Because, what basis had be insisted his statement on? There was nothing wrong with Draco Malfoy- at least, that was what had been ruled. And Draco felt himself shrink, less and less confident under the scrutiny of the man before him. The room felt hot, yet perhaps it was only due to the rising tension. In his chest, pressure built up, not from nerves or anxiety, but of returning frustration that he would have been safer letting out early.

He breathed, exhaling before starting out clumsily, "I-I.. d-don't h-have t-to be..."

"You _do_ have to be up to societies standards, Draco. That's how civilization works."

Malfoy could feel himself grown warm. "I just meant to say that..." he began again, growing cross.

"That what, Draco, hm? That you have it all figured out?" Dr. Bowen appeared a tad more relaxed, slumped in his seat with such posture that signified that he'd considered the ball to have been in his court. He saw Draco as a minor threat- if that, even. And, without much hostility, he resumed his place as the doctor all over again. Thus, he noticed Malfoy's own stature slacken. Miserable as he had seen he boy before hand, Bowen was glad to have stumped him. He'd caught him in the middle, prepared to say something that even he wasn't even positive of. "You're not ready to live in the real world again, Draco," Dr. Bowen continued, looking calm and cool, despite Malfoy's blatant distress. "Sure, the Ministry may have seen differently, but in time, they'll find they're mistaken."

Bowen added, "hexed or not, either way, your condition is not normal... it may not even be curable. It's certainly possible... but probably not." He made a face of distinct superiority and grinned casually back at Malfoy in front of him. The blond watched in naivety, still numb from the pain medications, still used to the same bland monotony of the hospital itself. The man shook his steady head, made a flashing gesture with his narrowed eyes. He only slightly changed the subject. "I'm sure you've noticed the redecoration taking place?"

Nodding, Malfoy remained staring into the depths of his uniformed lap.

Dr. Bowen's face went initially sour. "The Ministry seems to think an inspection of my institution is a good idea at this point, thanks to your court case, Draco." He gritted his teeth, but remained smiling. "And, as a matter of fact, perhaps an update is truly what Hobb's needed. But I can assure you, when you do come back to this place, Draco, it will still be just as you remembered it."

Malfoy's fingers clenched the side of his chair greedily. His pulse pounded thickly behind his chest. He kept his head down, searching the ground when he said aloud, "don't call me that."

"Pardon me?" Dr. Bowen blinked, leaning a bit forward so that he could get a better look at Draco there in the dark.

Malfoy stalled before continuing. "Draco..." he mumbled, feeling more and more heated as time passed. "Don't call me that." Dr. Bowen looked surprised, honestly shocked that he had been presented with such a request. But Draco was fuming; he was not a patient anymore, and he and Dr. Bowen were certainly not on a first name basis. He was twenty-two years old; he wasn't a child, and he wasn't a patient. Sure, Dr. Bowen had seen him at his worst, but he, Draco, deserved at least a fraction of respect.

And, quite honestly, Draco's statement had taken Bowen back ever so slightly. He looked bewildered, surprised to have been asked such a thing, and then quickly regained himself. Looking fractionally unkempt, Dr. Bowen slipped his hands together at the surface of his table and said flatly, "I'm sure I will be seeing you again soon, Mr. Malfoy."

"You know," Draco breathed, looking up. His face was sweaty and perplexed, but he did not feel the chilly breath of Voldemort at his shoulder. Instead, he sensed a new feeling of being content. It was a strange rush to let himself go again, allow himself to pick himself up from the chair and stand up straight on his bare feet. "I don't have to be here. I didn't even _have _to come to you office!" He was shaking with the sheer thrill of it, yet he was not truly having a good time with tossing everything back in the face of the putrid therapist. Instead, he resided both profoundly disgusted and oddly proud of himself. He hoped Hermione would be. "I'm not a patient of yours," he continued, looking sick and petrified, "I don't have to do _anything_ you tell me to."

But Dr. Bowen nodded, simply. His neck barely moved, only his chin bobbed up and down with a calm and quick motion that kept him rooted. And Malfoy just watched breathlessly as the man kept his smug expression apparent. Something about him just did not want to give in. He had been wrong about Malfoy- about everything- and he knew it. Only, he just sat there, still acting falsely superior, still observing Draco with distance. "I didn't want to wake up here, either," Draco told him, leaning forward. He was gripping the side of Bowen's office desk, lunging forward so that he could see the doctor in the proper light. But Bowen stayed statuesque, raising only his eyebrows when Draco managed to turn pale with exhaustion. "I didn't want to be drugged," he gestured to the needle in his arm, "and I want my own clothes! And-" he stopped, still confused at the unsightly content expression on the doctor's untainted visage. "And... I just want to go home."

When he was finished watching the boy breathe in front of him, he lifted his shoulders to shrug. "Are you done?"

And Draco couldn't help but deflate. He laughed once, more out of embarrassment that of frustration, and lowered his shoulders. His grip slackened; instead, he ran his quivering hand through his hair and tried to ignore the tube that had been sticking out of his white forearm. "Please let me go home," he sighed lifelessly, pressing his eyes shut with a sense of being ultimately defeated.

Thus, Dr. Bowen gestured out lightly to the door. He did not acknowledge the sense of misery that his ex-patient had about him; in fact, he didn't really care. More or less, he was satisfied with having remained on the top. At least, he could tell himself later, he would always have his superiority. Nonetheless, he continued in his point towards the front door of his lovely little office. If all else failed, at least he would have that, too. "Your room has been left unlocked for you to gather your things, and then you will be escorted from the premises."

"And my wand?" Malfoy asked in a sad little tone. He had not meant to come off as vulnerable, but he certainly sounded very much that way.

Dr. Bowen smiled, "that will be returned to you once you successfully make it through the front doors, _Mr. Malfoy."_

Malfoy swallowed; he couldn't argue with that. This was his final release that they were discussing- it was something he had been waiting for far too long to even bother with protesting against. And instead, he simply slumped back down, wincing at he sore prick that the needle in his arm gave him with such fast movement. Nonetheless, he managed to turn, leaving Dr. Bowen behind him to his papers, his eyes set on the door and the damn door alone. Yet he could still hear Dr. Bowen as he gave him his final goodbye. And the man looked up, peering just over his papers to mutter back to Malfoy as he continued towards the simple doorframe. "I'll be seeing you again soon, Mr. Malfoy." And then, with that, watched the boy make his final exit.

* * *

**Vonne: **I'm sorry that this chapter was not as long as the previous ones, but I _promise_ the next ones will have so much more. This will be the last short-filler-like chapter of this fiction, but please don't hesitate to let me know what you think. I'd even be interested in hearing your predictions about the fate of any of these characters. ;) Perhaps some of them wont make it out so lucky.


	32. All Leads Down to One

**Vonne:** I've been working with two separate fan fictions at the moment, trying to get myself prepared to start all over again from the beginning with something completely fresh and new. It is actually a little strange, to be honest. Not writing anything that has to do with Draco and Hermione in Hobb's, or over the course of a court case. But I'm liking starting over with a fresh idea, and I'm hoping that it takes off as well as 'Radio' and 'Basket Case' have. Anyways, only a little bit more left after this. It's going to go fast, so be ready!

**Tragic Slytherin: **Definitely, Dr. Bowen is not going to let his guard down, that's for sure. He's definitely a sadist, absolutely. And what's more is that he'd definitely far too captivated with the remodeling of Hobb's and his loss that with Draco. Of course, he'd very much a sore loser, but that also is a definitely a weakness. He's let his own guard down as well, and his also left his asylum in a very, very vulnerable and unprotected place.

**Voldyismyfather: **Thank you so much! I think that this chapter was almost a pretty long one. It was pushing on 5,000 words long without this introduction. So I'm hoping that this chapter was definitely worth it. It's all going to go so fast from here, and I hope you're all ready to see it end!

**Alice Wednesday: **Dr. Bowen is definitely a sore loser. He's just not a very nice person, either. Besides, he's never really fancied Draco, you know? Ha, and I know what you mean. I try to write things without swears sometimes. It never works. I have to admit I use swears on a daily basis. It's not very flattering, but its become something of a habit. Mostly, I have to try and focus. Nonetheless, I'm glad this fan fiction community has a rating system, though I doubt the lot of you don't swear as well... don't deny it! And maybe Hobb's will get better. Who knows? ;)

**Ali-Lou: **Just when I start being an optimist, I turn it back around in the other direction, don't I? This next chapter is written proof of it, too. You'll see... but you're definitely right about Draco. He's starting to be a little more hopeful with life and the idea of starting over with Hermione. I hope you like this next chapter, even though it isn't exactly what you'd probably hoped for.

**OanDuress: **Ha, maybe Dr. Bowen will get what's coming for him?

**Corey Fitzwilliam: **Thank you! 'Cellar Door' is posted, but only the first two chapters of it so far. I'm going to be focusing on that one once 'Basket Case' has been completed. And that day will be coming soon! I'm definitely trying to work on my activeness and updating for everyone. I'm just so happy that, with all the complications of having deleted this story in the beginning, that it is finally back up and coming to a close. It was a hassle for sure, but definitely worth it.

**Doni: **I agree with you completely. I've never been a Dr. Bowen fan, but I've always been a fan of karma.

**

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**Chapter Thirty-One:**  
** All Leads Down to One**

Draco Malfoy finally breathed what he thought was to be an ultimate sigh of relief.

What he didn't know what that everything- everything- was about to go wrong in a matter of twenty minutes.

The hypothetical clock ticked around him, unheard to his ears and unnoticed in his head of naivety. It struck down the dwindling moments that his serenity had left; nineteen minutes. Eighteen.

He didn't even see it coming, either. No, instead, Draco Malfoy was far too enthralled with the packing that he had been left to do once he had arrived back into the room that had once belonged to him at Hobb's Institute. He hadn't even managed to get himself changed; he hadn't even moved. Thus, he'd been sitting on the edge of his hard mattress, head in his hands, staring at the room before him with one swift motion that made his heart beat and his head rush. It was the last time that Draco would ever see the interior of Hobb's, despite what Dr. Bowen had insisted earlier. Draco knew it- knew that, from now on, he was going to make an effort. Hermione, he realized, had given him another chance at redemption. And all he wanted to do was see her again.

Seventeen minutes. Seventeen minutes, and he still thought everything was going to be okay. And, really, he was only fractionally correct; he had not seen Voldemort for hours, had not felt the chill of his ice cold breath at the back of his neck for what had almost felt like ages. It seemed strange, even, to think that the dawn of a newly happier age was creeping up on him. He had never really considered himself truly able to even get to that point. And yet he couldn't deny the natural high he'd gotten from even just staring at the lump of clothes on his bed. Sixteen minutes.

It was weird, but he didn't even think much about the nights he'd spent in that very bedroom. He didn't even think about the horrible nightmares that he'd woken up to in the middle of the night. Instead, he considered the good intertwined in the mess of all that unsightly ugly. He thought of Hermione and his stomach did flips. He thought of the beginning, of how he'd found that silly little radio in the middle of the streets after a walk home with Goyle from the pub. He thought about standing at the top of the bridge, ready to loose everything. Fifteen minutes. Fifteen fucking minutes and the whole world he had finally put together would just come crashing back down again.

Back all those months ago when he was standing at the bridge, he was certain that he could have done it. He could have, if he had wanted to, ended it all with one simple jump. But it had been Hermione who had saved him, it had been Hermione who had helped him. And now he was at the point of his new beginning. Draco Malfoy, he breathed in another sigh and he also considered it to be a inhale of relieved breaths. This was, of course, what he'd thought he had always wanted. This was, of course, what he had been striving for since the very beginning. This was, of course, going to go completely astray in a matter of fourteen minutes.

He didn't know it yet, but all that packing and prep-work would go to shit. All of it. His white spidery hands that folded the clothes in front of him worked without real purpose. He placed one sleeve over another, gently put them into the open trunk that rest on top of his pathetic little mattress. He didn't even feel haunted by the room, didn't even feel uneasy by the walls that still leered in on top of him. It was an entirely new feeling this time; a feeling of refreshment and a path to start anew. He didn't have to think about the room, either; he was going to be back home in a matter of minutes. He planned on meeting Hermione in the forrest behind his house, planned on lying next to her in the grass. And he owed it to her, owed her a lot. And he'd never have ever expected that he would ever owe Hermione Jean Granger anything, but now he owed her everything.

He wondered what his old self would have thought of this moment if he had known that it was coming. He wondered wether or not he would have jumped off the bridge faster if he would have known then what the future had in store for him. Because it was Hermione Granger, for fuck's sake- Hermione Granger who he had tormented in school, whose teeth he made so profoundly massive in forth year. She was the Mudblood, the friend of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. She was everything he had ever stood against. But now it was different. Now it was so different because she had found the radio, because she had helped him off the edge of the bridge, because she had saved his life not once but twice.

Thirteen minutes. He was so oblivious, he couldn't even hear the clock ticking. Twelve minutes. Eleven minutes. Ten.

In ten minutes, Draco Malfoy would question every single thing he had convinced himself of up until this point. But he wasn't thinking about that now. What he was thinking about was the night he had been dragged by Hermione to her home. He'd been intoxicated and slurring then, rambling to her in a tone that was desperate and pathetic. He'd slept on her floor, woke up to a cup of tea and a sleep deprived Hermione looking interested and, admittedly, a bit pissed off. He'd given her Hell then. He'd convinced her that he was going to go off himself in the middle of a rainstorm, waltzed across the emerald lawn of her backyard, and disappeared in the mass of the bushes behind him.

When he'd caught up with her weeks later, they'd found themselves at the lake behind his house. She'd caught him in the water, floating on his back, and he'd told her he was going to drown himself. She had jumped in after him. And then, when he'd got her to calm down, they'd looked at the stars and, for the first time, he was able to relax. He'd told her about the life he'd had at the Manor, told her about the bodies, the burials, everything. She knew about it all, about every last detail, and he was certain that she was about to leave him then. It had surprised him that she'd stayed, surprised him even when she'd wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her lips so gently on to his. And he remembered pushing back with a feeling of warmth that he hadn't felt since God knew when. It felt right and strange. She managed to scare and enlighten him. Nine minutes.

Draco Malfoy never thought he'd be in love. Draco Malfoy had never loved anyone but himself, and this he could admit without much shame. Because, in truth, aside from his mother and father, Draco Malfoy had never really had much beyond earthly possessions. And it was weird now, loving someone like he did. It gave him a newfound sense of determination, a sensation of strength and possible ability. And everything, as he thought then, had worked out in the end... hadn't it? Everything had worked out and he could finally go home. Eight minutes.

He hadn't seen Voldemort in days, hadn't heard the scraping sound of Nagani, either. And it certainly did look as if the world had taken on an entirely new meaning for Draco's once whirlwind-esque existence. Pieces were being picked up, Draco was moving on. And he couldn't help but have to sit down, either. An entirely new sense of an overwhelmed feeling took over him. This was it, this was the end of the part of his life that he had grown so apt to loathe. Perhaps, in time, he would like himself like he liked Hermione. Perhaps, in time, he would never think about the Dark Lord, or the Manor, or the Battle. Seven minutes.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Draco ran his hand through his head of blond hair. The needle of the painkillers had still been struck into his forearm, Malfoy found an odd peace that he was certain was not from the drugs that had been running through his system. And, dizzy with anticipation, he rest his head back, staring at the ceiling steadily. A slight smile passed over his lips, and a little cough of a single happy sob escaped from his throat. He didn't care about Dr. Bowen and his various claims of Draco Malfoy's return. He'd show him in time... in time, he'd be a distant memory and Draco was positive of it. Six minutes.

What he didn't notice was that somewhere in the sterile white asylum, the feet of someone new had found purpose on the chilly tile below. He hadn't even suspected it, but the steps slid along the floorboards, paced wildly across the room that their owner had been contained in. Tonight was the night. Tonight was the night because it had to be. The owner of the pacing noises had been so sure of it. And though he was at a particularly far distance from Draco's room in the hospital, he made his way steadily to the door. Draco may not have foreseen it, but the new man so certainly had. He'd seen it coming, he'd known it for months.

He'd warned everyone and they'd thought him crazy for it. He'd ended up in the fucking asylum because of it. And, perhaps he had been wrong in his predictions before, but this time- this time he was absolutely positive. He'd known it the second he'd seen her, too. The pretty little nurse with that evil little glisten in her eye. She'd come into his room while he was sleeping and he had seen her face in his visions. She was nameless to him, but that didn't matter. The very moment she had dove forward, he had set his plan into motion. Quickly, his fingers had surged out. Greedily, he'd clamped his grip around her and darted for the unsuspecting wand in her hand. And they'd fought for a good several minutes too, but eventually he'd won. In his visions he'd always won.

Thus, in the silence of the newly remodeled asylum, the shadowy man whispered, "_Avada Kedavra,"_ and the sparkle in her narrowed little eyes went out forever. He let out a sob of despair; she hadn't suffered, but it had to be done. Carefully, he took one slow step over her thin and lifeless body before pursuing forth with his inevitable destiny. There were about five minutes left for Draco Malfoy to enjoy his bliss when the novel shade stretched his hand out to the doorknob and gave it one simple twist.

And all the while, Draco Malfoy thought that he was going to be so happy.

Four minutes. Four minutes and the escaped madman had made his way down the isle of Hobb's. Everything had been polished and new. Everything had been touched up and redone. No one paid attention to the patients, no one paid attention to his moving shadow. And, even though he had seen this moment happening one million times in his head, he had not truly expected it to have happened this easily. Yet something forced him forwards with such a sweeping motion. He had no trouble slipping past the rooms of his other condemned ward mates, yet they watched him with horrified faces, begging for help, begging for a simple and easy way out.

Yet he remained quiet in thought, kept his eyes focused on the corridor and the expanding hallway out in front of him. He couldn't see the room that belonged to Draco Malfoy, but his dreams had shown him where it was. And he knew that it was somewhere down the length of the passage way, knew that the door would be unlocked, and that the boy would be lying on his bed. He had to end it all, and he had to end it tonight. Because if he didn't, the world would end. If he didn't his life would be over, and the universe would crumble to chaos, and fire would ignite his vision.

He'd been granted a gift. A gift to rid the universe of the waste, of the evil, of the unneeded.

He'd been granted a gift, and he'd planned intently on using it tonight of all nights. They'd called him crazy, called him mad- wait until they saw him then, once he returned the world to its peace and rid it of all evil. Wait until they saw what was in store.

On the top of his mattress, Draco Malfoy pressed his eyes lightly shut. He didn't care about the men that had beaten him up at the pub, and he didn't care about his previous therapy sessions with Elaine Galer. All that had been in the past, and it would soon be nothing more than a minor setback. Goyle had been right; he could make it work, and he every plan to, too. Malfoy let his bare feet hang at the end of the bed. With his free hand, he moved his fingers along the thick scar that ran along the skin at his neck.

He had many scars- his body was racked with them- but this one was perhaps the largest of them all. It was one he couldn't hide easily under clothes without a scarf, one that his younger relatives might ask about in the future. But something about touching it now did not pain him. Something about it being there made him feel oddly stronger and strangely content. He had lived through that period in his life, he'd survived through the very worst. And, though it had been undoubtedly the most awful years of his entire life, he felt an overwhelming sense of pride in him then.

He'd changed from it all, made himself better. No longer was he the son of the Death Eater, or the follower of the most feared man in the entire Wizarding World. No longer was he a pathetic little prop, used by his aunt, and Pettigrew, and Fenrir. Gone were the days of curses and hexes, gone were the days of isolation in the cellar. This was different, this was new, this was fresh. This was, of course, Draco Malfoy in a completely different light. He was not his father, he was not his aunt. He was not a Death Eater or a murderer or a bloody madman. And the truth of the matter was that he didn't really know what he was, yet there was no fear in his ambiguity. He was nothing and he was something. He had Hermione and his life. And, for then, that was all he'd needed.

Three minutes. The sloppy footsteps sounded closer, slippery with the overdosage of sleeping medication that the hospital staff had used to calm him. But this man was tough, this man could stick through it. Three minutes and he would not be the one sleeping, but _somebody _would be; somebody would be sleeping and they would never, ever wake up.

And the shivering man was sobbing now, shaking with anticipation and dread and fear. This was it, and he knew it. This was it and he was afraid, but it was something he had to do. And his cries echoed off the newly painted walls, sounded back out to him in his head and made him sick with nausea and terror. He looked strangely pure in his soft white uniform, his wrists scarred with the harsh lines of having been bound. And his hair was wild on his skull, messy with sweat that dribbled down his pale face and mixed into the salt water that crept out from his eyes.

And Draco Malfoy was so calm, so serene, so trusting. He'd let his guard down and he really shouldn't have. He'd taken his time to compose himself, when he really should have left without hesitation. But everything was supposed to happen in the way that it did, and the sobbing man had known it all along. The man trailed along the walls, leaning against them as he made his way closer. Two minutes left, and he could see the door that belonged to the twenty-two year old son of Lucius. His sagging body remained pitched up against the space of Hobb's asylum, smearing the fresh white walls with snot and sweat and the blood of the mean-looking nurse that he had only just ended.

His name was Leroy Beevis and he'd warned Draco Malfoy of this.

One more minute.

One single remaining minute. Then sixty more seconds, then fifty nine.

Leroy's hands pushed his body along the hallway, his eyes fogged with the teary blurs that blocked his vision completely. He couldn't see a single thing but the door and the door alone. And the wind was pushing him forwards, bringing him back towards Draco, who was just so perfectly naive. Fifty-eight.

And Hobb's was just so silent, so calm and crystal clear. Everything was just so faithfully in his favor, everything was just so specific and precise. The wind from the half opened window at the end of the hallway whispered to Leroy and urged him forward in the night. It nipped at his neck, made the very hair stand up on the flesh of his rash covered forearms. With Voldemort gone, the world had been rid of the Devil, but Leory Beevis knew... demons still very much existed.

The wind kissed his back, licked his ear, took his hand. He heard his own thoughts so loudly in his head that they might have well have been audible. "_Rid the world of demons. Rid the world of waste." _Fifty seven minutes, fifty six. Fifty five.

Fifty four more minutes left, and Leroy Beevis had drawn himself close. He could see the white door there, waiting for him, and he knew that the very man he had been dying to see had been lying directly behind it. But Draco Malfoy was still in his own little world. He hadn't realized that the passing moments were crucial, hadn't heard the scream of the panicked world around him. Fifty-three. As the time winded on downwards, Draco Malfoy considered the scar on his neck and lifted his steady hand off of it. He kept his eyes shut, but calmed his chest and readjusted his breaths. He'd wanted to hug his mother, and thank his father. He wanted never to see another glass of liquor again in his life. He wanted to feel as happy and as optimistic as he'd felt at that moment for ever and he'd never, ever wanted the sensation to end.

Fifty two. Fifty one. Fifty.

Leroy Beevis stood with his shoulders slumped and the wand of the deceased nurse stuck in between his fingers. He tightened his grip, eyed the door, watched it grow as he shortened the distance there between himself and the very front of it. He was staggering now, but his sobs were making him ache. He couldn't breathe, couldn't find himself the strength to possible compose his body structure. Forty nine, forty eight, forty seven.

And it was true that he had wanted this. Oh yes, he wanted this- wanted it more than anything in the world. Leroy Beevis wanted to see the light drain from Draco Malfoy's face of white transparency. He wanted to see thick gobs of gooey, hot blood drain from the top of his skull and mix with his light blond head of messy hair. He wanted to hear the boy scream and gravel. And though he'd heard it before in his dreams, he'd never prepared himself so much for the night of blatant actuality. He'd never imagined that he would be so scared, so frightened to make an entrance. And his hands were so sweaty he'd almost dropped the wand that was not his own. His posture so hunched that he'd almost slipped there on the tile below him. Forty six.

Everything went in slow motion for the madman. His mind ran carefully, his vision brought to light only certain aspects of reality. He saw the twinkle of the glass windows on the bedrooms of the other patients, watched their faces watch him back, laced with curiosity. He was doing this all for them, all for their safety and his own. Draco Malfoy was the very evil that plagued the Wizarding World. Him and his father, his mother, and that Gregory Goyle. And once Draco's flame was put out, Leroy was sure that the Wizarding World would see the error of their ways. Letting Draco leave the asylum was only a setback, but his death would bring upon them a bout of newfound hope. Forty five.

The death of Draco Malfoy would spawn the deaths of the other diseased, as well. They'd come for Lucius and Narcissa, Lerory guessed. They'd whisk them from their homes and kill them before anyone else was hurt. And then they'd come for Gregory Goyle next, too. And they would not bury their bodies- oh no. Instead they'd pile the lot of them on top of one another, burn their corpses. Leroy shook with the sheer terror of it, but he had to kill Draco Malfoy, and he had to put an end to the madness. Forty four.

In his nearing steps towards the door, Leroy considered the possibility that the world still find him insane. He recognized the fact that, had they not seen eye to eye, he would be kept in Hobb's, would never see the light of day in his life again. But it was a risk he was willing to take, a risk that he was more than willing to take. Forty three. Forty two. Forty one. Thirty more seconds, and the clock simply ticked. He could hear it; he could feel it. _Tick, tick, tick. _

And because Leroy was not a completely crazy man, he realized that, more than likely, his dream of fame and appreciation would not come quickly. There would always be those that would mourn the wicked. There would always be those that insisted he was insane. So perhaps he would spend an eternity in Hobb's, but at least he knew that he was safe. Twenty nine.

Twenty eight seconds left and Leroy could physically hear his heart beating in his chest. Twenty seven now, and he was certain that it was practically clawing for a way out. Leroy didn't care what they did with him then. He was doing this for the greater good, doing this for every single face that stared at him through the window. But he was so close now, he could almost imagine it. He was so close now, he could almost truthfully picture it. It was almost a reality, was almost graspable. He held his breath, choked vibrantly on his sobs. Twenty six, twenty five.

In the dark room that Draco had used to call his own, Malfoy let his hands run through his hair. He slipped his palms over his face, and let his elbows hang there in the air. He ignored the tug of the medicine tube attached to his arm. It didn't bother him now. Twenty four.

With his hands covering his visage, Draco breathed in. He felt the swell of life that flooded through his temple and it made him almost completely weak with clarity. He didn't realize that he had about twenty three seconds left, but instead he thought about freedom and opportunity. When he was running on twenty two seconds left, he thought about moving out, moving on, and moving up. Twenty one more seconds, and he thought of life the very moment he had left Hobb's entirely; he laughed even at the thought of having to deal with Hermione's bloody cat, Crookshanks. He was far too happy, far too ready, far too unknowing. He had only twenty seconds left.

Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen, sixteen, fifteen; everything was going too fast now and Leroy Beevis could feel it. He had almost made it to the door, had about one more step to go but he wasn't even certain that he could do it. Nonetheless, he urged himself towards the thing, positioned his leg outwards so that his stance came successfully and righteously. He sucked in a massive amount of stale air, landed his bare foot on the tile and stood wonkily in front of Draco's bedroom-like prison with his shoulders slumped and his grip tightened.

"Fourteen seconds left," he told the cracked door with a harsh whisper that he knew Draco could not hear. "Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven." He wondered what the boy would do if he knew- wondered what actions he would take if he had known that he had only a matter of ten seconds left.

But this was the point of his vision that Leory had always ended up on. Nothing ever stretched on longer than it did up to this point. It was always the same; he would see himself standing there, stiff in front of the door. He would hear the heavy breaths of Malfoy as he waited silently. Then the scene would dissolve. He could feel the heat of the fire, could see the flame as they rose up in front of him, but nothing more. He always woke up. Nine seconds.

Eight seconds left and Leroy Beevis lifted his shaking arm and extended his five fingers. Then, he sprawled them out across the door knob of the boy's unsuspecting room.

Seven seconds left, and he took his last inhale of prepped breaths.

Six seconds; he was still shivering with the dying sound of his sobs, but he was all the more ready for this.

Five. Leroy readjusted his shoulders and took one last glance around the hallway of the hospital.

The coast was clear, everything was as he remembered. He saw that no one posed as a threat, no one even knew that he was there. His solidarity came to him as a reassurance of confidence and he felt slightly more at ease with the onset of it. Four.

Nothing was out of place. Everything was perfect. All was as it should be. Three.

Finally, Leroy Beevis fixed his grip. He held his breath and lifted his wand upwards. Unarmed, Draco Malfoy really didn't have a chance. And there were two more seconds.

In the dead of the night, Leory stepped forward. He pushed the door of Malfoy's bedroom opened and stared down at him in the darkness. He hadn't even made a sound, hadn't even disturbed the boy on the bed in the slightest. He could see Malfoy with his hands over his face and his legs out in front of him. He could see the long tube as it pumped medication into the boy's bruised body and he took that as his advantage.

And he gripped the wand in the silence as he took his final step forward. He thought of Draco Malfoy, of his funeral and his corpse six feet deep under the solid ground known as earth. He thought of broken bodies, of flames, and of Hell. He knew Draco Malfoy would be going there soon enough. He let the shivers shake his body, and watched the chest of Draco rise and fall. Beevis drew himself forward, too another step, and braced himself for the kill.

One.


	33. The Whole World in Flames

**Vonne:** This chapter is not as long as the others, but this is almost the end. We have two more chapters to go and I am so excited to get Basket Case up and finished once and for all! I'm going to make this introduction short so I can focus more on the chapter, however, so I will get to answering you here right now without any more rambling.

**LuckyStar1881: **Hello! I'm so glad you enjoyed reading that last chapter. I definitely wanted to leave off on a note that had everyone guessing. I hope you like this chapter, as well! We're finally winding down, but of course, I wouldn't end this long story without keeping you all on edge, would I? Sorry that it took so long to update! But hopefully this chapter makes up for it! And thank you so much for your compliments! I am so happy to hear that more people than those that commonly review are reading this! I appreciate reviews so much and I am so happy that you decided to just leave one, even a simple one. Thank _you, _I couldn't be happier.

**Doni: **It was a bit, wasn't it? I knew I wanted to leave everyone hanging with that last chapter, and I'm glad that it seems like I've pulled it off. This is the third to last chapter, so its all going to happen pretty fast! Thank you for the reviews (of course)!

**Midnight Demonn: **AH! Looks like you're not the first one to think that I may or may not kill Draco off. You're going to have to keep reading to find the answer to that one out! And it's totally fine that you've not reviewed. I take reviews graciously, and understand when people are low on time. I'm happy that you decided to leave one for chapter thirty-one, so thank you! Don't worry about it!

**Corey Fitzwilliam: **I know! I HAD to, but I will keep you guessing until the end, I promise. I'm sorry that this next chapter kind of took a while to get published, but I hope that it makes up for the lack of updates through content. And I'm so glad you've decided to check out Cellar Door. I'm not going to continue on with it until Basket Case ends, though. I want to devote my time to the ending of this so that it is perfect.

**Voldyismyfather: **Will Draco die? Hmm... I can't say, but you'll find out soon enough, I promise!

**Ali-Lou: **I hope not! Hah, actually, I think I did the opposite. I got so many reviews for this chapter and I'm fairly certain that Draco's uncertain survival was in the air. Either way, I hope I haven't killed anyone- I don't know how I could live with that on my consciousness. I'd probably end up like poor Draco Malfoy and, after penning this whole story down, I don't think I'd quite like that fate to be honest with you. You're exactly right on Draco's state of being, by the way. I think up until this chapter he still does not have a grip on reality. He's either considered things to go up and stay up, or spiral down and stay down. He doesn't realize that there's an in-between. Nothing's perfect, and it never is. And thank you, for keeping me motivated all the time!

**TragicSlytherin: **Oh, Beevis wants something, but really he's looking for order. Of course, Leroy Beevis is a madman and he doesn't really know exactly what it is that he is doing. When Beevis talks about the 'Devil' and his 'demons', he is most certainly referring to Voldemort and his Death Eaters rather than the actual Satan and his crew. And you're absolutely right- Beevis wants all these 'demons' gone from the world. Maybe taking Hermione would be a good way to do so, but he's insane (hahha) he's not as smart as you are in your analyzation. By the way, I love your analogy. But I can assure you, I would never cut the wires and let you suffocate- you've motivated me to update far too much!

**OanDuress: **Ah! I'm glad that I've put you in suspense! I hope that this chapter didn't take too, too long to come up as published. Thank you so much for all your reviews!

**Pearlrose33: **I did have to, I'm sorry! AH! I was certain that doing so would cause a bit of a frenzy, too. I was going to update a month later, actually, just to be cruel and garner more suspense, but then I had a change of heart. You all have helped me to update so much so. Nonetheless, I definitely was not going leave you hanging for too long. Thank you all for all your help- it means so much to know that I have so much support. My 'Story Traffic' in Basket Case goes up so much a day and I've got so many favorites, reviews, hits, and alerts. Thanks again!

Additional thanks to those that I had no time to get to. I am so very sorry, please forgive me: **McLanna**, **Psychic City**, **Lively McBrighten**, and **LeCandeh**.

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**Chapter Thirty-Two:**  
**The Whole World in Flames**

Zero. This was it, everything and anything Draco Malfoy had ever wanted in his life was all going to be put on the line and, quite frankly, there was nothing much he could do about it.

He didn't see it coming, of course, until he'd seen the sweating face of Leroy Beevis hanging above his own. The man's chest rose with the sound of his fractioned breaths and, though it was a small little noise, Draco was absolutely certain of it. He'd snapped his hands from his visage, blinked uneasily, and felt the strong push of Beevis' palm as it was pressed ruthlessly over his mouth. And when he'd struck out the wand in between Draco's set of gray eyes, he stopped struggling. "Don't say a word," demanded Beevis in a tone that was all the more scared himself. His own sandy hair fell over his forehead and he ran a free hand through the mess of it. "Don't talk to me. Don't." He was frantic, and his shivering muscles applied pressure on the lower hold he'd had of Draco's face.

Yet the sight of Leroy Beevis standing there in front of him made Draco's head swim. In an instant, the calm aura of his previous being had been drained from him completely. He lost focus with the idea of a future, of a life, of happiness. Instead, he saw only those eyes; two twitching bulbs at the posterior of Leroy's mangy face that examined him with an odd sense of burning resentment. He stared back down into Draco's own eyes and he noticed that his vision was blurred. Malfoy's body had gone rigid, timid with fear that overtook his whole body and forced him to oblige. And Leroy saw when he'd glanced towards the door in hopes of seeing a passing shadow, but Beevis knew that the desire was far too much out of the question.

"Y-You're g-going t-to die tonight," Leroy told him in an uneasy tone and Malfoy's chest fell with a submissive sob. Leroy felt Draco's spit hit his palm and he winced, despite himself. But the blond pressed his eyes shut; Leroy Beevis felt sick when he saw the drip of scared tears run down his pale cheeks. "Stop, stop it!" he cried, taking his hand from Malfoy's face. He didn't waste any time, however, on re-obtaining him. Instantly, he grasped the space around the collar of Malfoy's white uniform. With alarming strength for a man so frail, he hoisted Draco from his position on the pillow and ignored the helpless yelp that emitted from his sore throat.

Instead, he slammed the blond's back into the wall behind his bed, keeping his lower torso still attached to the mattress. But Leroy was not careful with the pain medications that had been pumping into Draco's arm, and when he'd drawn him so quickly upwards, the thing tore out instantly. The newly formed gash at his flesh sprung open graciously, but it was not the pooling blood and the onset of newfound pain that made Draco fell light headed. "You have to listen, because t-this is the last thing you'll e-ever l-listen t-to, okay?" Leroy fumbled on, looking determined through his facade of ambiguity. He pressed the end of the dead nurse's wand up into Draco's neck and when Malfoy gasped hoarsely, Beevis' palm met his drenched face once again.

"They think I'm c-crazy b-but they don't know you like I do, and I know w-what y-you are!" He was breathing, so perfectly perplexed now that his own eyes were starting to pool over. His free hand grabbed at his hair and his face twisted with sheer determination. "I've h-heard r-rumors, t-too, you know. T-The Devil's blood r-runs in your veins!" He was panting, his shoulders rising and falling desperately to spit out his speech and get everything over with. Yet he seemed almost at a loss of control with himself. Every so often, his eye would twitch, his lip would stutter. Something about him seemed sad and angry. His own head swirled with anticipation, with the need to see it that Draco Malfoy would never live another year past twenty-two.

Rewind back several months ago when Draco Malfoy had seen Leroy Beevis for the very first time. He was a panting and sweaty man, not too much older than Draco himself, and covered in bruises. His hair was shaggy upon his head, and his eyes flickered with the fear of something unseen. He'd used a croaky voice, high pitched with terror, and stepped with a crooked posture, his face flinching, his eyes flashing. Back then, when Draco could proudly claim himself as Beevis' distinct opposite, he would never never guessed that he and Beevis would reach such a similar point. And yet it seemed almost impossible to ignore now, when he'd looked upon Beevis there in front of him. Both men were a mess, both men were questionably sane; in the end, both men were indefinitely trapped.

Against the pressure of Beevis' palm, Malfoy mumbled inaudibly and, retracting, Beevis's face fumbled. "What?" he asked deliriously, drawing himself back. "What did you say?" And, surprisingly, he withdrew his hand, though he remained content on propping the wand in between Draco's watery eyes for good measure.

Malfoy drew in his breath. Shaky, he remained hazy and weak; his body slumped against the wall, he found it almost impossible to move now that the pain from the lack of sufficient medication had found his head again. "I don't think you're crazy," he told Beevis anyway, trying to stay truly composed. "I can help you..."

Leroy's jaw tightened. "I don't need your help," he snapped, gripping his wand in a way that made his knuckles white with anticipation. "I don't want your bloody _help._" Once again, Leroy found refuge within his roots. Bringing his hand up to meet his scalp, he fixed his vision and narrowed down ruthlessly upon Malfoy, who recoiled at the sight of his nearing shadow. "You know what would help me? Hm? B-Because t-the only thing that would h-help me would be to see a d-day without the existence of you." His words spilled out from his mouth in a tone of voice that was oddly sincere. It was as if he had no intention of hurting Malfoy's feelings, yet desired more to be honest. And Malfoy took distinct notice of this, even felt fearful at the chances of making it out alive. And so he tried again, though really, he wasn't sure that his pleas were much use.

"Please..." he murmured, his sweaty hair slashing across his face, the blood pooling out from his forearm. It tainted his white uniform with blood, stained the fabric and made it impossibly red.

Instinctively, Beevis' posture stiffened. He rushed back forward, and slammed his palm up against Malfoy's nose, fastening his mouth shut along with it. And drawing in a gasp of air, Malfoy felt lightheaded as the wind around him was shut off. He saw stars as his head hit the back of the wall, felt his heart beat faster when the shouts of the patient in the next room pounded eagerly back and shouted through the plaster, "I can hear you in there! I can hear you! _I can_!"

"I can hear you, too," Leroy Beevis informed Malfoy carefully, glancing down at the boy's panting chest. "I can hear your heart beating and I can't take it any longer." And Malfoy couldn't breath, couldn't see, couldn't think. His being was a blur, overtaken by the throbbing pain in his head, chest, and lungs. He had been so simply stupid before to have ever thought that there was such a thing as a happy ending in his cards. And he hated himself for it; he couldn't even hate Beevis, the madman suffocating him who was perhaps far too insane to realize that Malfoy was not really much of a harm to anyone. Instead, he positioned all his resentment on his own shoulders. He had tricked himself into believing that he could ever be content and joyful. He had fooled himself that he could be with Hermione and move out of Hobb's. Beevis, he was only a prop, a tool in the world's joke that had been Draco Malfoy's entire existence.

And though Malfoy knew that sooner or later everyone was bound to die, he struggled with accepting that this was his time.

Draco's face blued and Leroy caught wind of this. He saw the image of Voldemort in the corner of his institute bedroom, watched the emerald green snake roll off his shoulders so casually. And while he knew their appearance was brought to him from the newfound stress of oncoming death, Malfoy couldn't help but feel as if they only mocked him in their silence. Though the Dark Lord never whispered a word. Instead, his skeleton-like finger drew itself down the scaly front of his pet, and a serious expression remained wrapped on his rotting complexion. So Malfoy squeezed his eyes shut, and he felt himself passing out. His eyes rolled carefully back into his head and his fluttering lids made it easy for the tears to pool down his face and mingle with Beevis' clenched fingers. His body slumped forward and, when the shadows stretched onward to him, Malfoy felt the sinking feeling that it was, in fact, all over.

His body sloped forward and his forehead collided with Leroy's boney chest. For a minute, he remained there, hovering in and out of unconsciousness, though he felt shocked with Beevis drew his hand to his back. And then, with fast pace, he felt the man lead him away from the wall and the bed completely. Hastily, Beevis swore, but his hiss of "fuck!" was nothing more than a whisper in the likes of Draco's fading vision. He felt himself being lifted, forced close into Beevis' being, as he was waddled to the other end of the room. It was a short walk with only a few steps in between the bed's frame and the wall, but Beevis did his best to keep Malfoy awake. Surely, his fists tightened around his waist, and he yanked hastily at the roots of Draco's blond hair. He hissed, "don't you dare," and with his head pressed so closely to Beevis' chest, Malfoy could tell that his anxiety was growing. Then, when Beevis placed his back against the wall, the madman drew himself up and kept Draco standing only by his harsh grip at his collar.

"You think," he breathed, looking all the more furious, "that I'm going to let you die that easily?" Sweat dribbled down the patient's wet front. His eyes were red from crying, his posture slumped from his previous sobs. "No; only when _Voldemort_ has been released from your veins will I let you die- pathetic a-and a-alone." Then he gestured down to the impressive gash on Draco's pale forearm. "This," he added, brushing his fingers along the opened part of it. Draco's body fell again, his knees buckling with the pain of having been touched. Moaning, his eyes flickered back again and his torso slipped forward, his head pressing up against Leroy's chest, though the man seemed far too interested in the open wound that Malfoy's uneasy state of mind. He smirked, "this is a good start, I think."

He lowered Draco back to the ground, still utterly fascinated by the mark, and let the boy's head fall forward, his eyes still twinkling with the sight of flashes. "You'll be fine now," Beevis told Draco and he reached forward to smooth his hair back to get a better look at his eyes, but his hands were shaking far too much. Thus, Beevis recoiled, instead retrieving his wand and positioning it back under Draco's neck. "It'll be over s-soon, a-and everything w-will be restored." Despite the tone of confidence in Leory's voice, his eyes still stood to swell. His lip quivered with every uttered sentence. He hesitated, and then dove towards the wound again, analyzing the blood that passed back on to his own fingers. "The Devil, Voldemort's blood..." he bemused, "h-he has chosen his demons." And then when Draco's eyes slipped upwards, Beevis nervously hissed, "d-don't look at me!"

Draco, however, did not look away. He looked dazed, but his mouth barely moved when he insisted desperately, "I-I a-am _not_ a d-demon..."

Leroy's head snapped back up. "Liar!" he hissed, and then lowered his wand back down on Malfoy's cheek. He hissed, "_Sectumsempra," _and the spot on the blond's face split open. Within the instant, the newly formed cut sprouted blood and Malfoy's chest fell, his throat hoarse with whimpers that only blended in with the sounds of the usual noise of Hobb's Institute.

Tumbling from his cheeks, Malfoy's tears burned the open wound and made his face pale. He lifted his hands, shaky and uneasy, in one last attempt to grab the wand from Beevis' grip, but was only met back with an impatient slap; Beevis knocked Draco's fumbling hands back down and, with a hiss, started back on creating another gash on Draco's chest. This time, the front of his shirt ripped open in the process, slashing through Draco's pale chest and dousing the front of his white uniform with fresh red blood. And Malfoy felt his head sway, his focus slipping; he couldn't do a thing without a wand, and he knew that this was it.

"Please," he tried, nonetheless, one last time, his supply of air running loosely in his lungs. "Please..."

"Stop talking!" Leroy said frantically. His face shimmered with sweat and he gulped, once again pressing his hand up to Malfoy's mouth. He yanked down the front of Malfoy's uniform, low enough to reveal the scar on the boy's neck. And then he froze. Something about the massive scar seemed to hold him there, keeping his quivering hands in place before he looked back at Malfoy fearfully. "T-This..." he breathed, smoothing back his own head of messy hair, "t-this i-is it... t-this..." he slipped his finger along the surface, and Draco shook his head. But Leroy was completely captivated by it, afraid even to advance upon something so distinctly obvious.

And Leroy could sense the cause of Draco's scar in his very core. He felt he cold chill run up his spine, the lack of air in the room as it was sucked drastically from his very lungs. This was it, the cause of the curse; Voldemort's blood had entered through the split in Draco's neck. But Beevis stalled. The fear he felt in drawing himself near it was uncontrollable. He braced himself for it, for the act that he knew was bound to happen. And slowly, he drew his wand up and overlooked the shaking that infiltrated his very being.

_"Sectumsempra." _He merely stated the curse, his nerves so violent that his eyes continued to give way with fresh tears. And he drew the end of his wand down the long curve of it, ignoring Malfoy as his body shook and his heart pounded. His sobbs bounced against Leroy's body, spit dripping from his mouth, tears pooling from his eyes. He was a mess, but Leroy was only focused in the wound. His eyes widened, his mouth fell open. He could almost feel the breath of Voldemort as the wound split open again. He sobbed without truly meaning to do so, arching his back until he managed to reach the very end of Malfoy's scar. And, at that moment, he stumbled back, scrambling away from Draco like a crab, his face curious with terror.

He panted hoarsely, picking himself up so that he stood in his feet in a position that was defensive all the same. He held out his wand towards Draco, who had curled himself up tightly with his hands over his head. "It's been done..." Leroy said out loud. "I did it... I c-can feel it. And now you're n-nothing but a demon without a path."

Malfoy coughed, his head twisting. He felt the surge of everything he had ever seen in his years at the Manor flood back to him. The wound split open and freshly bleeding, Draco saw the quick flash of his own body all those years ago as he was hoisted up by Peter Pettigrew and directed in to the woods to bury the bodies of the dead. He saw the flash of Goyle, advancing towards him with a shiny metal shovel, of himself rushing uneasily through the field of wheat and his head slamming forcefully on the surface of a hard and pointed stone. He saw the day that he was given the Dark Mark, felt again the pain of it as he saw the memory of the Death Eaters holding him down to apply the permanent skull into his skin. He'd wanted it so bad back then, wanted more than anything to be one of them. He'd come to want to complete opposite, of course; he had wanted Hermione and happiness and peace. But now all Draco Malfoy wanted was for the pain and the suffering to just stop. Draco moaned, feeling the drain of his body, feeling the warm liquid of his own blood as it rushed down his torso. He couldn't do it anymore, didn't want to.

"Please," he said, huddled into himself. He lifted his head, fumbled forwards so that he was crawling. "P-Please, just do it..."

Blood flowed down from his cheek, neck, and arms. He let his hair fall messily in his face, spit out saliva and touched the cold tile that was the ground below him. Jumping back, Leroy looked befuddled. "Stay away from me!" he cried, touching the back of the room with his fingers. He held out the nurse's wand. "Stay away!"

"Do it!" Draco begged, using the wall to pick himself up. "Please, j-just kill me." He'd had enough. Had enough of everything. He'd never have Hermione, never have peace. And he was so focused on his death that he hadn't noticed the absence of Voldemort in the corner of the white bedroom. Nonetheless, he shook uneasily as he inflicted himself forward, his entire posture shaking, his back hunched with misery. "Please, just k-kill me."

Beevis' back had touched the wall and his face was contorted into that of pure fear. However, Draco's quivering body gave way and, once again, he fumbled back to the ground on his knees, truly unable to hold himself upwards. Thus, Beevis' body relaxed slightly, his shoulders sighing with the sight of Draco's vulnerability. "D-Death," he stammered lightly, "will come, Draco Malfoy," and the blond heaved graciously.

Sobbing, he clung to his stomach, looked up from the floor, and the begging in his eyes was undeniable. "Then let it," he cried solemnly.

"As you wish," Leroy answered, looking ready and nervous all at the same time. He took out the wand, directed it away from Malfoy's being at pointed it up in the air so that the tip of it had been directed point-blankly at the ceiling above. "I will send you b-back to Hell, where the Devil and his demons alike belong."

In the last few seconds before the fire shot from the end of the wand in Beevis' hand, Draco Malfoy hoped even, that the Wizarding World could continue to pick up the pieces, that maybe his death would, in fact, bring together their determination for something better to look forward to. But most of all he hopes that Hermione Jean Granger, the woman he had loved and the woman that he would die loving, would live a happy and long life without him. He hoped she'd realize that none of this- not a single ounce of it- was her fault.

_He _had put her through this, he had made her suffer. Not even Leroy Beevis, the man with the weapon, was to blame. This was all bound to happen, this had all just been put off for far too long. Thus, the flames that shot out from Beevis' wand bound the room, engulfing it with fire so passionate that it clung to the sheets and heated up the chilly atmosphere within the instant. "You will die in Hell," Beevis said, stepping back towards Malfoy as he gestured to the symbolic flames around him. "A-A-And then, after your d-death, you will live to be t-tortured in Hell."

And then the madman took his leave, stumbling back over his feet as he rushed towards the door, wand in hand, and fled off down the hall of the asylum, an excess of additional flames following him on his way out. On his knees in the middle of the chaos, Draco Malfoy didn't dare move a muscle- he couldn't if he'd tried. He'd given up and this... this was it.

So he watched, his breaths filled with soot and ash, as the world crumbled and the universe took its leave.

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Hermione Jean Granger was, for the first time in a long time, finally at peace.

She'd been lying back, her hands behind her head, with her eyes pressed lightly shut and her legs stretched out before her. Her long brunette hair was positioned around her head, crown-like as she took in the simple scent of the scenery. She had been lying in the grass of Draco's hide out for a long while, sprawled out along the grass in waiting. Though she had not talked to Draco since his she had seen him drugged at the asylum, she was certain that he would know where to meet her. And Hermione couldn't deny the overwhelming intensity that surged through her very chest. She had made it, _he_ had made it. In a couple more hours, she would finally be able to reassure him of that.

Carefully, Hermione thought of every little thing that had gotten her to the point that she was at then. Her most brilliant move in the world was planting that radio in the Wizarding World, even though she had no idea then that Draco Malfoy would be the wizard to stumble across it. Of course, she wouldn't have taken that action back for anything in the entire world. She'd lived for that mistake, the one miscalculation of intellect. Draco was exactly who she'd needed to find the radio, without even realizing it. Draco was it, and she couldn't have been more thrilled.

And she smiled at the idea that he was currently now packing up and ready to see her. She'd made a little gift for him to, despite herself. There in front of her rest the scene of a small picnic; she had set it up when she'd first arrived at the clearing by the lake that was now just starting to defrost. In the basket, she'd placed sandwiches and brownies, all magically fixed to look like tiny little radios. Along the white sheet she had laid out as a blanket, she'd scattered a set of red rose petals, laughing to herself as she'd done it in the knowledge that Draco, too, would find them humorously cheesy more than romantic. Yet that was the greatest part about him, Hermione considered as she'd dumped an excess of red roses onto the sheet. She could be herself, and he could be himself. Around Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger was thrilled to find that she had felt the most relaxed she had ever felt in her life.

She'd planned the whole meeting out, too, drawing the roses to meet the entrance in the clearing that she was certain that he would enter from. She'd placed a pile of new clothes she'd picked up for him at Hogsemeade in the days before anticipating his arrival, and on top of the pile she'd stacked a pair of ice skates. She'd been practicing since he had seen her horribly attempt to skate all those months ago. With a little chuckle behind her closed eyes, Hermione relished in the thought of rubbing her newfound skills in Draco's face as he slipped against the ice. Maybe this time, she thought with assumed victory, she could teach him how to do it.

Of course, she'd fallen victim to dressing herself up in a nice way. Mentally cursing herself, she'd stood in front of her closet debating whether or not to dress for the cold weather, or whether she should put on something a little more inviting. She'd loathed herself slightly at that moment, cursing her stupidity. Hermione had never been one to fuss over what she'd wore, but this was a special occasion and she knew it. So, she'd held her breath and pressed her eyes shut when she'd reached for the white dress. Short and lacy, it came together around her thin waist with a silk bow. The entire dress was made of lace, though her skin was hidden modestly by a thin white fabric that clung to her curves delicately. Admittedly, she looked fantastic, feeling slightly pretty when she'd stood in front of her bedroom mirror analyzing it. And when she'd stepped out the door with her picnic basket in hand, she'd felt giddy at the overwhelming sense of butterflies in her stomach.

Thus, where she rest currently, she had been regretting her decision. The weather outside was freezing and Draco was taking his time with his packing. With her eyes still shut, she considered how long she had been lying on the grass in hopes that he would show up there through the bushes. It had been two hours, she'd guessed, two hours since she'd positioned herself there. The brownies, she worried, would get cold. The bottle of wine she'd reluctantly brought with her was calling out to be consumed selfishly without waiting for Malfoy. And solemnly, she fingered the two glasses she'd already had poured for them. She had not touched hers since she had shown up there, had promised herself that she would not do so until he had given her his company.

This was not right; Draco's release was not to have taken _this _long. Perhaps, Hermione thought, he had gone back home. No, Hermione was certain- though she had not made any previous arrangements with the blond, she was positive that he would come to find her there. Yet, something seemed to churn in the pit of Hermione's stomach. Something was not right- not anymore.

The air around her that was so previously lush with fresh aroma and wild scent had morphed. She had just noticed it. Instead of fresh air, Hermione smelt ash, smelt charcoal. Something was burning and Hermione's brown eyes snapped instantly opened. Then she saw it; the sky above her was orange, twisting with clouds of black, roasting with heat and panic. It offset the world around her, made her feel almost helpless as she remained in her silly white dress, her back still pressed against the sheet beneath her.

She peered off into the distance, followed the smoke with her eyes. She knew that trail, knew that little light in the distance and the building that it was coming from. It was the very same building she had stared longingly at ever since Draco Malfoy had been confined to it- Hobb's. The fire was coming from Hobb's.

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**Vonne: **Almost the end! Please review! It is my only source of motivation to update, you know!


	34. The Inferno

**Vonne: **I _promise_ that the next chapter I will answer every single response, but for today, I am so short on time that all I could do was submit this chapter! Thank you so much for all your reviews! I've read and loved each and every one of them. Hopefully this chapter will bring you some closure- but remember, it's not completely over yet! Two more chapters to go and 'Basket Case' will finally draw to a close. Please, _please_ don't hesitate to tell me what you think of the ending so far. I am dying to know how you like it. And don't be afraid to hurt my feelings. I like constructive criticism if you've got any. Besides, I worked so hard on trying to get this ending right, I feel like I need honesty!

Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy this super long chapter.

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**Chapter Thirty-Three**  
**The Inferno**

Through the flames of the rising fire, the defeated shadow of Draco Malfoy sat panting. He watched the orange and red bursts of Leroy's outrage as it inched up the walls, saw as it traveled deviously up the curtains of his bedroom and licked graciously at his bed sheets. The fire had turned the room a strange shade of fuschia. And the pain in his body was overwhelming, so much so that his torso shook with uneasiness, kept him rooted to the chilly tiles and reenforced his lack of motivation to move. Yet Draco had already reached his point of desperation- he'd come abruptly to the point of what he had considered to be without return. This was it, this was his death; Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, chosen one of the Dark Lord, Madman, Attempted Murderer... he was going to die in the flames that crawled up the walls before him. Over and over again, he tried to convince himself that he was ready for the end.

As the flames drew drastically closer to the floor around his bed, Draco considered the act of burning to death, and he decided that it was going to be rather painful, rather prolonged, and unbearable. He didn't want to die, but escape, he'd figured, was not really in his cards. And though it was not truly as if he were actually _trying, _he was almost one hundred percent certain that any attempt would have gone array in one way or another. Every single thing that had ever gone correctly in Draco's life had been taken away from him. However, he was not mad. In fact, he felt humbled, accepting even of the way that his life had played out for him. He considered that God had quite the sense of humor, had planned this firey punch line all along for him. Because, really, Draco watched the fire through teary-eyed vision with the notion that his entire bloody existence had been just one big joke.

The crackling of the building around him made him jump, and he gave a sad laugh at his foolishness. He was scared- _horrified-_ but he wasn't exactly sure why. But his terror was undefinable because he _knew. _He knew what was going to happen, prepared himself even, for the undeniable pain that would come out of it, out of death. In the middle of the bedroom, in his filthy white uniform, Draco leaked blood onto the cold tile squares and tried to breath steadily through the fog. From his open wounds he bleed mercilessly on to the floor; the gashes were not deep enough to kill him, but the draining fluid would certainly contribute to his untimely demise. Nonetheless, he shut his eyes and contemplated death with such intensity that he simply _had_ to grasp the realization of it. This was _going_ to happen, he'd assumed; death was near, and he, Draco Malfoy, would just have to accept it...

Then the sound of Dr. Bowen's voice broke through the popping silence that burned away at the furniture lining the small little bedroom. His frantic speech broke through the asylum noticeably, blending in with the crack of the lively barbeque that had been made of his prestige institution. And Malfoy listened to him shout desperately, _"warning: this is not a drill! Evacuate the building immediately! Once again, this is not a drill!" _The alarms set off and Draco Malfoy heard the bustling feet of the terrified as they scattered across the hallway outside his bedroom. The bare feet of patients slipped along the surface, mixing together with the soles of the soles on the feet of the hospital staff, who shouted demands and tried to cluster as many patients as they could together. They seemed to overlook his door, though Draco did not mind. He did not want to be found by them- being discovered would only just lead him into yet another downfall later on in his life. Instead, his desire to end it all had overtaken him completely. There, on the newly hot floor of Hobb's, Draco Malfoy pressed his eyes shut and listened to the madness.

He wondered for a moment whether or not the afterlife he'd live would be peaceful. Surprisingly enough, Draco had always been spiritual, yet even he was not quite certain on where he'd end up once he'd been burnt to a crisp. Modestly, he crossed out Heaven as one of his options; he was certain he did not deserve it. Thus, he moved on to his only remaining post-life residence: Hell. Perhaps Leroy Beevis was right; perhaps Draco _was_ intended to wallow in the flaming pits of The Inferno. Sweating, Draco contemplated an afterlife there. Certainly he was miserable, but he surely did not want to exist in a realm where he was to be pulled from limb to limb on a daily basis. Quite honestly, he wasn't sure he could handle that- the mere thought of it made him think of the Death Eaters and the Cruciatus Curse all over again, and it made him sick. With his back against the floor, Draco spent what he'd assumed to be his final moments in prayer, begging whomever was listening to instead rid him of any sort of punishment. He didn't want redemption, and he didn't want damnation. What he wanted was complete and utter peace; blackness, to exist no longer in the world or in the afterlife.

Then came a sob that was laced with so much self-pity, that Draco was almost ashamed of his body for admitting it audibly. Yet, truthfully, he couldn't help himself; dying was not something that Draco had looked forward to. Despite trying to convince himself that he was okay with it, he seemed almost unable to do so. The thundering beat in his heart told him that he wanted to get up, to escape the burning building before it collapsed and to spend an eternity with Hermione Granger, though he denied himself of pursuing his needs. Strange as it seemed even to Malfoy himself, he knew that he just could not bring himself to do it. So instead he waited, instead he listened. For the first time in a long time, he relaxed his body and calmed his chest. With that, he waited to feel the tickle of flames as he knew that soon it would be brushing against his tear stained cheek.

Rushed, the sound of overwhelming footsteps made Malfoy wince out of jealousy for their motivation on moving. They scurried for the sake of their lives, hurried in search of an exit because they, unlike Draco, valued their lives just that much. And Draco's envy made him sick, filled with self-loathing that made him hate himself for remaining put. Yet still, he prepared himself for what he only knew was coming. He tried not to listen to all the screams of sheer despair that echoed through the hospital. Though his room had been fairly unburned at the time, Malfoy could hear them cry out, for the walls of Hobb's had blocked any form of Apparating out of the building. Anguished and dying, he tried to block himself from hearing the curls of their yelps from what he knew was their deaths. Though the shadows cast upon his walls told him that story of the scene that played on outside of his room.

Patients and hospital workers alike were all being caught up in the fire that Leroy Beevis had set upon the ghastly institution. And he was not immune to the sound of their own personal deaths; though he moved his aching palms up to his temples to cover his ears in hopes of blocking them out. However, the world seemed determined to let him know what it was that he was in for, and he could not escape the brutal sound of it all. Over and over again, knees hit the floor and desperate gurgles rang out into Draco's fuzzy head. They were dying and Draco Malfoy knew; he was not the only one who would not make it.

Thus Draco Malfoy felt weary and pressed his eyes shut, lowering his hands in defeat. The soundtrack of the dead still played feverishly, but by then, Draco was far too numb. Instead, he waited for his turn, for his upcoming track on the playlist that rolled out before him. It was coming and he could feel it, could feel it so much so that he almost overlooked the sound of the advancing footsteps that pounded through the corridor around him. He paid them no attention as they _clip-clopped _along the floor, searching through the hospital with intent purpose. And the huff of a pleading sob joined them. Though distant at first, it grew under great distress that Draco had to look up when he felt the shift of shadows as someone new entered his room.

"Draco!"

Malfoy's eyes snapped themselves open. He looked upon the room, engulfed in flames, and found the shadow that stood hunched in the space near his cracked open door. And he saw the figure at once; the beautiful outline of a thinly curved woman, her chest bouncing with breaths that were panted, her hair wild, dark, and messy upon her skull. She wore white, though Draco did not take time to consider the irony in this fact, and she looked utterly radiant in her dress of delicate lace. When she slipped her slender foot forward, she did so with a stumble that was uneasy and saddened. However, in the darkness, her brown eyes blinked; and though she was absolutely perfect, he could not oversee the desperate look on her lovely complexion. "Draco! We've got to get out of here!"

Hermione Granger's face was covered in ash, her voice hoarse with the dryness of the fire spell. She picked up her pace, nearing the blond with her arms outstretched. When she reached Malfoy on the ground, however, her own face shifted. The previously frantic look that Hermione had taken to had been altered, and Malfoy was certain she had noticed the blood that had turned his uniform a deep shade of vibrant red. "Oh, Draco!" she chocked out, her face darkening. "What have they done to you?" She brushed her hand along the front of Draco's forehead, sweeping aside his hair that was filled with blood. Rather, she ducked low to avoid the flames around her, but her eyes were locked within his cold gray ones at the same time. Breathing slowly, Hermione pressed her eyes shut and brought her hand down low on his clammy cheek.

But Draco Malfoy did not opt to move a muscle. Instead, only his face contorted. His perplexed expression twisted, looking confused, he coughed, "h-how did you f-find me?"

Shaking her head, Hermione swallowed a large lump in the pit of her throat. "I saw the fire from the clearing by the lake," she told him. Then, heaving, she reached forward, dove to lift him off the ground from his boney back and whispered, "we've got to get out of here, Draco. This place is going to burn to the ground." Malfoy moaned. Too weak to stop her from lifting him up, he allowed her do to so until he came to met her shoulder with his forehead. Hermione, however, felt her heart stop when Draco lifted a sore hand and placed it on her collar bone, as if attempting to stop her. "What is it?" she asked, glancing around; the fire was drawing in closer. "Draco, what's wrong?"

Malfoy swallowed. "I'm supposed to die, Hermione. I'm supposed to go with this building."

And Hermione was not certain she had heard him correctly. For a second, she stopped, looking down at his bent blond head as if she truly had not made the connection. "W-What?" she asked him, slacking her grip and bringing him away from her so that she could look into his eyes. At that moment she did not care about the fire or the building or the risk of death. At that moment, she only saw Draco Malfoy and him alone. "What are you talking about?"

"'Mione," Draco continued, looking back at her. His eyes were flooded over, sparkling with tears that clouded his very vision of her. "I can't do it anymore. I can't live knowing that I am never going to be happy... I can never f-find peace, o-or _redemption_, or..." hiccuping, Draco let his sentence trail off into the whirling air of cackling fire all around him.

However, Hermione looked curious, as if she had clearly misunderstood. "Or what?" she was asking, her voice laced with sympathy and longing. She moved her hand up again, for the second time smoothing away the blond's stray strands of loose hair and tucking them behind his ears. She looked at his solemn face, felt her own heart clench at the simple sight of seeing Draco so broken. But Draco seemed so afraid to tell her, so fearful of saying it out loud that it almost broke her in two. "Or what, Draco?" she asked again, smoothing her hand down his wet face.

"Or you," he admitted breathlessly, his face crunching up and his body retracting. He babbled on, looking embarrassed and relived at the same time, as if he had been dying to saw it for a very long time. "Sooner or later, it's going to happen, Hermione. I-I'm not meant to b-be with you." His tone went sore, slicing the room with misery when he breathed, "I'm not sane enough."

"Draco, you're sane; you're okay," Hermione informed him, shaking her head again, rubbing back and forth against the skin of his slippery visage. "You're okay," she told him again, simply. "Everything is going to be okay now." The fire roared and the screams seemed to die out. Most of those that had died had done so, and those that had escaped the flames had made their leave. Draco guessed that it was only he and Hermione that remained within the building, but he was certain that Hermione still had time to leave if she hurried.

Nonetheless, he watched her face. She was so trusting, so careful, and he did not deserve any of it. "Sooner or later," he told her with a brand new sob, "everything is going to go downhill again." When he shook his head, he did so with a solemn shake, his shaggy hair once again falling across his petrified face. "I can't h-handle that... I don't w-want to p-put you through that."

"I can handle it, Draco," Hermione said, her fingers still running along his pale skin. She watched the reflection of the fire as it lit up his skin and overtook the mattress that rest behind him. Within seconds, the metal bed bent under the intense heat that enclosed it severely. The flames were nearing and Hermione knew that there was not going to be much time left until she could make it out of the asylum alive with Draco. However, she didn't care much about her own survival at the moment; rather, she thought only of Malfoy, and her persisting desire to let him know how much she truly cared for him and his life. Thus, she said earnestly, "I can handle it because I want to." And when he still seemed unconvinced, she added breathlessly, "I want to help you, and I want you to help me."

However, the look in Draco's eyes remained and, heaving, Hermione reached forward. She took grab of the back of his head and pressed him close in a tight hug, pressing her eyes shut when his shoulders bobbed and he soaked the front of her lovely lace dress with the waterfall of freshly spilt tears. "Y-You've g-got to get out of h-here, 'Mione," he told her collarbone, squeezing her close to him in attempts to give her one last hug.

But Hermione shook her head, stubbornly clinging back on to him. "I'm not leaving her without you," she told him, and she meant it.

There was a bout of untainted silence. Fire burned all around them, it touched the sheets and burnt the very fabric to simple black particles. Nothing was to be left untouched. The time for the building's end was drawing only that much more close, though neither of the two made any action to signify their next move.

Nonetheless, Draco pressed his forehead against Hermione wearily. Though he'd said it before, he hoarsely said it again, "I really am loosing my mind," he stated, referring more to his refusal to help himself out of the burning building than his actual hallucinations. But Hermione was not about to walk away, and he knew this as he sniffed, exhausted and all the more overwhelmed. But Hermione brought her hand down over the bloody mess that was once Draco's head of nicely cleaned blond hair. She could feel that he was shaking underneath her touch, due to both fear and the lack of pain medications in his weakened system. Still, she kept him deeply close, bringing her chin to rest on top of his head, where she planted a soft kiss at his hunched crown.

"Only the best people are," she told him back. Malfoy huffed, his head still pressed against her, and Hermione added gently, "Nothing's ever going to go exactly the way you've planned it to, Draco. Life just doesn't work that way." She slipped her hand down, smoothing back his hair again. "We can make it through the difficult parts, you know." Her tone of voice was timid and careful as she whispered to him over the fire. Then, with a slight chuckle, she said, "I'm pretty sure we've made it through the worst."

Draco's posture rose and fell. "I don't know why you'd want someone like me," he said with a dry throat, and he thought of all his issues, all his problems. He'd had a past track record that was impossible, a history that was humiliating. And Hermione, Hermione was the picture of a true saint. She'd never lost her path in life, stayed true to what she'd believed. Unlike him, she had kept her good intentions alive, managed to save the entire Wizarding World from the horrible wrath of the man he had known as The Dark Lord. It didn't make any sense that she would possibly want him. He truly wondered why she did.

"I want you, because I love you, Draco," she told him, whispering close in his ear. "I love every single aspect about you, the good and the bad- all of it." Then, when she heard Malfoy stifle a somewhat sarcastic huff, she curled her fingers in his hair and brought her mouth down gently on the crown of his skull. The room was getting hotter, and more and more of the furniture had started to rise up in flames. "Draco," she said after a long while, still on her knees in front of him.

"Hm." Malfoy mumbled, his face still buried in her chest. His nice white shirt had suddenly caught fire by the sleeve and darted down all the way to the neck collar.

Hermione released her hands and stood up, still cocked forward so that her eyes met Draco's level. "We've got to get going," she told him, looking gentle and frantic all at the same time. It both confused and ignited Malfoy dearly. And Malfoy sat there considering her; Hermione Granger, in her lacey white dress looking marvelous and determined. He looked at her simply. If he went on with her, then he would be telling himself that he was not going to give up- not again. Going with Hermione would mean that he, Draco, would try once again for another chance. But maybe that was the way that it was supposed to be. Maybe things didn't always stay positive, maybe things weren't always perfect.

In the short moments that he sat there in front of her in heavy thought, Malfoy thought of his life as almost inevitably unpredictable. And maybe he would always have the image of Voldemort glaring over his shoulder but, then again, he would always have Hermione, too.

And then she struck out her hand.

Her chest rose and fell, her eyes challenging him carefully. Through the smoke that tainted the room, Malfoy could see her gaze, so narrowed and perfect; and on her face rest a pretty little smile that was almost mischievous, one that Draco had remembered from his day with her at school. He thought about staying, about burning with Hobb's and about never, ever having the chance to see Hermione Granger's half-lifted smirk again. He looked at her fingers as they dangled curled above the ground, waiting for him to interlace his own spidery ones within them. He thought of death and of Hell, of demons and of Devils. Then he thought of Hermione.

And so he took it.

* * *

Though much of Malfoy's wandering with Hermione had been done through a daze, he had still remained holding on to her hand as tight as possible. And the burning hallway seemed only to stretch outwards before them, leaning in on Malfoy as he lagged behind Hermione in a daze. He could feel it then, the searing pain that ran through his entire body. Although something seemed to keep him rooted- Hermione Jean Granger made the effort to move forward only that much more bearable. Her warm fingers interlaced within his, Malfoy found the will to take the steps, found the determination to make it out, to start over...

And they had made it pretty far, too, clamoring with fast-paced feet through the dark pathway that was the very same institution that Malfoy had spent months in. His bare feet touched the tile that was now burning hot, heated by means of the intense flames that burned out all around them. Yet they were one, linked together by their fingers, in a dual line through the dimly lit corridors. Every so often Hermione would breath, her pants echoing off of the walls and flooding back into Draco's muffled ears. The sound of her lively breaths sent a chill up his spine, made him weak in the knees. She was alive and he was alive; it made him excited and anxious all at once. Still they pulled through, fumbling through the expansive path within their own tight hold. And Draco felt nothing, saw nothing, knew nothing but Hermione. She was so distinct there in front of him, her lovely hair flowing out behind her, her lacy white dress hugging her active curves. She was beautiful, but that was not why he'd loved her- she'd saved her life, and she had risked everything to try and save it again.

"There!" Hermione cried out, breaking through Draco's thoughts and making his head spin. Through the crackle of the flames, her voice sounded hoarse and dry without sufficient oxygen. She was heaving, though her feet stumbled onwards, her finger outstretched towards the open doorway that sat at the end of the lengthy corridor. Then they'd broke through into it; the Activities Room. Bland, pale, and freshly painted, the lounge room was burning to the ground. And everything was aflame. Caught up in the chaos, the bared windows reflected the furnace-like scene of the dissolving room around them. Flames ate away at the walls, chipped away the new paint and exposed the plaster. Chunks of plaster dripped, drooled, drizzled. Nothing was safe, nothing was saved. Everything was going down.

And through the expanding oven, Hermione glanced back over her shoulder. Her brown eyes were wide and her face was wet with extensive sweat. He could hear her dry heaves, could visualize the image of her chest as it struggled to catch any amount of air whatsoever. But though her shoulders were still slumped in utter confusion, he couldn't help but notice that her thin hands remained graciously coiled around his own. Over the madness, Hermione breathlessly called out, "Where is it? Draco? Where's the front door?"

Malfoy gave the Activities Room a swift look around. He was certain that he had seen it before, though his memory was fading him. Where was it? Where was the front door? His posture slackened and, desperately, he glanced around in attempts to help her. But he came to no use- and then it hit him. The staff at Hobb's had never let him out of his room during the months he had stayed there. Embarrassed, he only remembered bits and pieces of being led through the room in a drugged-out daze, when they'd seated him in front of the hexed television set to keep him calm, quiet, and out of trouble. He couldn't help her- he didn't remember a door, couldn't even remember ten minutes he had spent there. Struggling, he opened his mouth to speak, but then shut it again when he wasn't sure exactly what it was he was going to say to her. Humiliated, Draco's face reddened.

But Hermione seemed to understand him more than he knew. Retracting, she froze momentarily, rubbing her thumb up and down at the opposite end of his palm. Then, she muttered, "its alright," and glanced back around reactively as if to save him from further embarrassment. Draco hung his head low, watching his bare feet and the blisters that tainted them. Yet his uselessness did nothing to satisfy him and he felt odd as a strange sense of compassion overwhelmed his lanky frame. He couldn't help it- she'd made him feel determined all over again. And the lingering flames only fueled him further; the last time he'd existed within the contents of a burning building was not an event he wanted to see repeat.

However, a new tug sent him staggering forward all over again. She had stepped forward, still in an absolute hurry. With a quick stumble, she inched away from the Activities Roon, her eyes finding the shadows of two new open doors in the distance. "I see something!" she coughed, and Draco could see it, too. But despite not knowing where he was going, he allowed her to drag him, her breaths loud and consistent, her footsteps uneven and echoing. They passed the furniture and the television set, passed the coffee table and the pile of black ash that had become of it. He could barely feel himself as the chalky air tainted his lungs and taunted his nostrils. His eyes were tearful, dripping mercilessly at the heat that tickled sadistically before him. But Hermione was so strong, so willing. She held her breath, seemed to ignore the flames; and her only concentration lie on making it out alive and together.

Then they'd come through to it, bracing themselves for the rush of new wind that breathed in back at them. The corridor was new, though much more dark. Only a moment passed by when Draco was unsure as to where he was, but the realization hit him fast and heavy. He felt his chest sink, felt his head run numb. They stood in the corridor that he had been kept within; about seven spare doors lined the way of the tiled floor and Malfoy knew exactly what they were. A loud pounding chorus bounced through the hallway- they'd entered the Isolation Hallway and Malfoy tried to block out their screams.

Though he'd tried to block out their screams, there was nothing that Draco could do to deny them. In their doomed glory, they were there, mercilessly condemned. The pitiful left-behind patients of Hobb's, the ones that no one had bothered to try and save. They pounded against their locked doors with clenched fists, made moaning noises of desperation over the fire around them. The staff at Hobb's hadn't even tried to free them, hadn't even made the simplest attempt. He could see Hermione's brown eyes water, watched in solitude as her sweaty face reddened. "There's people in there!" she panted, whirling back around to Draco. Her hair was wild around her shoulders, her lacy dress had ripped, exposing freshly wounded flesh. "They've been... left to d-die!"

And Draco couldn't deny what he'd known was true. He stood in silence, stuck between fighting off tears and falling down limply. Had he been left within the confines of those doors, _he_ would have been one of the damned, he wouldn't have even been given a chance. Back before Hermione, back when Draco could have cared less, he wouldn't have recognized himself. Yet the throbbing in his chest told him that he couldn't help it; he wanted to help them as much as Hermione. At the same time, their eyes found Hermione's outstretched wand. Her posture rose, her shoulders jerked; swiftly, she gently pulled her hand from Draco's and started back forward. Her soft voice echoed. Breathlessly, she shouted, "_Alohamora!" _and the first in the long line of locked door burst open.

In a trance, Draco saw the dark shadow of the freed madman bound out from the door, his face covered in soot and ash. He brushed by Hermione, thanking her with his glistening eyes before darting away behind her. Yet Draco couldn't move; without a wand he was helpless, but his eyes watched Hermione and Hermione alone. Thus, he marveled in the action of her bravery, her out-of-this-world compassion. Her words cut through the air, commanded each locked door open with gentle force. She stumbled away from the debris, watching each freed patient as they scurried off in the same direction. Their hunched postures wobbled throughout Draco's tearful vision, and he wasn't even sure why he was feeling so consumed within her. Furthermore, all Draco felt was confused and uneasy and anxious, yet at the same time he was certain the he never wanted to leave her ever again. Thus, he was certain that he was in love with her and once more he heard her shout, "_Alohamora!"_

She threw her shoulders forward, her hair strung about her face in a wonky manner that made her almost look even more determined. She had broken through three doors, through four... Going strong, her slender arms whipped around, her aim fierce and tight. And he only watched, his eyes a fascinated blur. She inspired him, excited him. Something boomed off in the corner and Hermione had unlocked the fifth of the shut doors. He couldn't keep himself from watching her- so driven and mindful. With every push forward, she seemed to enlighten him, to enthrall him. Draco Malfoy had never in his life seen someone so profoundly caring towards another human being before... not until then, not until now.

The thundering crumble of the sixth door seemed to snap him to his senses. The prisoner behind it had scurried on, bare feet anxious over the tile that was steaming hot below him. Though Draco could not recognize a single one of the patients, he felt glad for them, despite their insanity or their previous crime. Thanks to Hermione, they had been given another chance- just like he had. And they'd deserved it. In the fire storm Draco wondered what Voldemort would have done had he heard Draco's thoughts out loud. And then, the very moment he wondered it, he took it back. It didn't matter, Voldemort was gone.

"Last one" Hermione coughed, glancing back towards Draco with an expression that was both loving and desperate. "_Alohamora!"_ When the final locked door burst open, Draco winced. It shuttered to the ground in full-force, sending pieces of the plaster tumbling. And from the wreckage came a larger shadow, a man covered with stubble that was gray and aging. He looked around, clad in the same matching uniform as Draco, and a curious expression crossed over his face. For a split second, he gazed down at Draco, as if unsure as to how someone so defenseless had set him free, but Hermione's heavy coughing sent his head whirling around in the opposite direction.

The man with salt and pepper hair took a second glance. A small and inquisitive frown took over his middle-aged features. "Ms. Granger?" he called out, almost too quietly over the thunder of fire around him. He strode forwards, nonetheless, eyes lifting back up to meet her gaze.

And Hermione looked just as shocked as he had, her expression shifting, her posture hunching. She'd risked everything to save those men, and the sight of a familiar man before her made her back straighten. "Roy Little?" she beamed, her wand dangling at her side. Her white dress was covered utterly in ash, but she still looked marvelous in all her beaten glory.

Still, Draco watched in silence. He had never seen this man before, but the look on Hermione's face was that of shocked joy. Though, the older man was panting and his face still smiled through the orange glow of massive chaos. "Well what do you know, little lady?" he breathed, and Hermione's hands found the center of Draco's again. She was at his side, there before he'd even known it. Roy took a step back, and analyzed the two of them standing there. "Saved us all again, did you now?"

However, in the middle of the meeting, something cracked. Around them, the ceiling looked as if it were about to collapse. Roy remained still however, his hands limp and lifeless at his side. He seemed oblivious to the fire around him, but Hermione remembered back to the first time she had met him- for a man who had claimed to have no pulse, perhaps he could care less about the possibility of another death. Nonetheless, Roy Little inhaled and when he did so it was shaky and dry. "Now how am I going to pay you back, Ms. Granger?" he asked, and for a madman, he truly did seem oblivious to the fire.

"You can show us to the front door!" Hermione commanded, and she leaned forward to watch the twinkle spark off behind Roy's light eyes.

He tilted his head, for the first time taking a proper look at the destruction around him. And for a moment he mulled it over, rummaging through the spaces of his half-sane mind before finally deciding upon an answer. "That's all?" he asked, and a massive amount of heavy plaster hit the ground next to his feet. "Well, you came to the right place."

* * *

**Vonne: **Two more chapters to go! Please excuse the writing in the second part of this one. Fanfiction deleted my original writing and I was so frustrated since I had wrote so much. This second part was a kind of half-assed hurry of what I had initially done. Please, forgive me for it. HAH.


	35. Does That Make Me Crazy?

**Vonne: **This is the _second_ to last chapter in the longly played out 'Basket Case' fanfiction. I am so happy that you enjoyed the last chapter, and I was more than excited to submit this chapter to you. There will be just one more chapter after this one, so all is not over yet. Just a few more things to clear up and then hopefully this will end clear and right. Thank you for all your continual support throughout this story! I appreciate it so much.

**WeatherWatch: **HAH, definitely not! I wasn't going to let Draco die, but I was going to leave you hanging in order to find out. That's really funny about the fire warning at your uni. Almost scary coincidental, huh? Well I'm glad that nothing really came out of the fire that was at your school, at that the place didn't end up like Hobb's. I so know what you mean about those kind of scares making the day more exciting, though. Definitely breaks up the monotony, huh? And I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter. Hermione is definitely like Draco's personal angel, which is good for him, because I always write my Draco as a bit of a fuck-up. Thank you so much for the long review! I hope you like this chapter as well! One more to go!

**LuckyStar1881: **Thank you very much! I'm so glad you enjoyed the last chapter! I'm sorry if the descriptions were a bit much. I've always been a describer. I like the try and put a picture of everything that is happening into my own mind when I write. But the last three chapters were about Draco in Hobb's because that is the climax of the story, you know? It's all going to end there, because it has to end there. Draco was sent there because he was thought to be insane. The burning of the place is almost symbolic in that sense. He's been freed from that assumption and he and Hermoine had made it out alive together. Anyway, I hope it makes a bit more sense to you now, and I'm so glad that you still liked the chapter nonetheless. Your constructive criticism is very, very much appreciated! I can't thank you enough!

**OanDuress: **Thank you! I'm so glad you liked the last chapter, as well! I tried to make it pretty emotional, for sure. Draco's been a bit of an emotional wreck as of lately, and it was just bound to end up biting him in the arse in the end, wasn't it? Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much. I'm getting ready to wrap everything back up! One more chapter to go!

**Voldyismyfather: **Aw, yay! Thank you! I'm so glad you like it! I hope you like this chapter, as well!

**CoreyFitzwilliam: **Definitely! I'm glad that you remembered Roy Little at least a bit. I wanted to have him come back- he never had much of an importance, but it was nice to have Hermione come to save him again. It really establishes her ethos, if you know what I mean? There will be an ending, and this one is the final chapter, aside from the epilogue, which is coming up very soon. I'm so happy that you've stuck with this to the end! I appreciate it so much, and I hope you're happy with this second-to-last chapter!

**TragicSlytherin: **It is her true nature, of course. ;) I hope you are satisfied with the ending that I have here. Granted, this is not the last chapter, but still- I'd love to know what you think of the way things are winding down.

**Doni: **I hope Draco's thoughts were redeemed by his final decision to leave with Hermione! And I'm glad to hear that you felt my rushed writing was still alright to read. That means a lot!

**Psychic City: **I did say that, you remembered! Well, I'll be true to my word since you so kindly reminded me...

**LeCandeh: **Oh, good! I'm really glad that, despite my rush, you found that the chapter still worked! Thank you!

**McLanna: **Okay, no problem!

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Five:  
Does That Make Me Crazy?**

They stood on the hill where the lights had gone out and the darkness seemed endless. There was nothing more than orange, and the vast glow of illuminating flame showed proudly that there was nothing more grand than the fire before them. And they watched it burn, too. A deep and crackling red tainted their view of the night sky, lighting up the universe around them with cloudy smoke and black ash. Roy Little had left them hours ago, bounding off down the grassy null to his own freedom with the others. He'd thanked Hermione quickly and nodded back to Draco with a look of understanding ease. Yet his stay had been fast; sooner or later, it was only Hermione and Draco that remained.

And they stood hand in hand, dumbfounded at the sight before them. The fire was inevitable, something of a manmade barbeque, a horrible and unstoppable bonfire. All the work that had gone into rebuilding Hobb's had gone to waste... all the time, all the effort. In the end, it hadn't amounted to much, hadn't redeemed the terrible asylum from certain scrutiny. There were no more screams, no more cries. Everyone that had made it out alive had been accounted for, and those that hadn't had fallen with the building.

Then through the madness, Hermione coolly asked, "what's it like?" and Draco wasn't certain.

Though the question was not clear, Draco's mind dove into every single thing that he could possibly think of. What was what like? Was she talking about the fire and the way it spun before them? They had made it out alive, much to his disbelief and gratitude, thanks to her. And it was a spellbinding thing, that flame. The way it whipped through the air before them seemed daunting, but the distance they kept from it held them safe. But perhaps she had been asking him about the hospital and the way he had been kept within it. He didn't want to talk about it, but he couldn't keep himself from considering the awful place. Hobb's was finished, destroyed; there was, in due time, going to be absolutely nothing left of the sterile white building. All the months he'd spent avoiding the place spun wildly around in his head- he'd been trying to avoid the unavoidable. It had all come to get him, in the end...

Yet Hermione had truly been his savior. Right from the very start, he should have trusted her. Thus, he considered her statement, uncertain and inquisitive. What was it like? She'd wanted to know, and he'd had so much to tell her. Still, standing with his blistered feet on the dewy grass, Draco couldn't help but ask her, "what is what like?"

And she squeezed his hand tighter, "being alive right now." The way she placed her frizzy head on his shoulder made him warmer. Her swiftly moving thumb gently rubbing against his palm kept him rooted. "I'm so happy you chose to come with me..." Her voice broke off, hastily as if blocked by tears. But Draco was happy, too. And being alive... being alive was like being given the very last of his chances. Being alive was like taking a breath that he thought he had lost a long time ago. It was bliss and it was thrilling. Though it terrified him, Hermione's presence made it all the more okay.

"I don't know what it's like yet," he finally said out loud, still facing the fire. His pale face had been covered in ash, and he had lost all his clothes along with it. In his bloody white uniform, Draco found joy in finally feeling separate from the asylum before him. He was ready to find out, nonetheless. Despite everything, he was willing. And Hermione had taught him everything he'd needed to know- made him realize that life, no matter how complicated, would not always go the way that he had originally planned.

"Well," Hermione breathed out. She looked dazzling still, despite all the black ash that covered her delicate white dress. When she smiled up at Draco, she lifted her hand and grazed his arm lightly with her fingers. "At least, you've got some time to wait and figure it out."

"Yeah," Draco mused. He found that he quite enjoyed it when she put her head on his shoulder, felt warm even when she brushed softly against his torso. "At least there's that."

The rest of the fire swelled on before them and the sky churned with the toxins that had ben put ruthlessly in the air. "So," Hermione paused, turning to look back at him. Her brown eyes twinkled and the flames behind them made her pupils look inexplicably radiant. "What now?" Now? Draco hadn't even thought of that. Up until Hermione had mentioned it to him, Malfoy had almost seemed only fascinated with his newfound chance. But she was, as usual, right- What now?

Malfoy's head turned, and his cold gray eyes met hers. He said, "my father's going to kill me."

And she said, "I doubt that." After a split second, Hermione added casually, "I'm really am proud of you, you know." She nudged his arm, making him stumble away from her slightly, though she managed to grab him back, pulling his body closer to her in the process. "You really aren't the same bully I knew from Hogwarts anymore."

Malfoy lifted up an eyebrow and tried to suppress a smile. Around him, the wind swirled and he knew that the Ministry would be arriving at any moment to inspect the damage. "I'm not?" he asked her in the few minutes that he knew that they would still be standing before the fire alone with one another.

Hermione shook her head. "No," she said, but did not clarify. Draco, however, did not need her to. For the first time he believed her, knew that there was, of course, some truth to what she was saying. Back during the time of the War, he, would have never opted to give himself a second chance. Back then, he would have died rather than live the life that he had been living. But this time, this time was different. He'd lost everything, while managing to keep the one true thing in his life that he found he honestly cared at all about.

Thus, he voiced the thoughts that he had been considering earlier. On the grass, he shifted his position. He still ached from the pain that throbbed through his body, still felt woozy at the ample amount of blood he had lost in the process of escaping Leory Beevis only hours beforehand. Nonetheless, he didn't care much. The moment that he had with Hermione on the hillside was enough for him, despite knowing that it was only just about to draw to and end any time soon. Glancing away from Hobb's, Draco looked at Hermione. "The Ministry will be arriving soon."

Hermione seemed to mull this over. Chewing on her lower lip, she nodded before turning her own head back up at him. "Yeah," she said softly back to him, "you're probably right." She'd guessed they had about two more minutes, perhaps three if they were lucky. "And what do you suppose we do until then?"

Draco didn't know- wasn't sure. However, the only thing that he found he really _did_ want to do was wrap his arms around Hermione and kiss her swiftly. She looked so beautiful to him then, standing there with a smile that was curled and perfect. And the wind picked up her frizzy brown hair and tickled her torn white dress. She even seemed to glow in the fire light. So he leaned forward to kiss her, lifting up an arm that was oozing with bright crimson blood. He touched her face and ignored the horrified look that overtook her features the very moment she'd laid her eyes upon it.

"Err," she stammered, lifting up her own hand to feel Malfoy's clammy forehead, "Draco?"

"Hm?" Malfoy whispered. The blood from his arm drooled down from his sleeve into the blood on his chest and collar.

"Perhaps you should lie down." She took her free arm and gently pulled away from Malfoy, slipping her hands up to his shoulders and giving him a soft little push. Still, she felt more comforted when they had touched the grass with their bodies, content that Draco seemed more steady when he was off of his own two wobbling feet. Nonetheless, she could never be too certain. Lightly touching his shoulders, Hermione positioned the dazed Draco against her shoulders before watching him uneasily slip down into her lap. He seemed not to notice his bout of sudden weakness, chalking it up to mere exhaustion that actual blood loss.

Hermione, however, pulled his head towards her, gripping his chin so that he was looking back up at her. Though the fire still blazed restlessly in the near background, his expression was soft. "How're you feeling there, Draco?" Hermione asked him, brushing aside his mess of ashy blond hair. His light yellow locks were held together by clots of his own dried and browning blood.

"Exhausted," Draco murmured.

Drawing a hand up to pet Draco's sweaty forehead, Hermione glanced back up to the sky. In the distance, small forms of several figures were starting to make themselves visible. She knew that it was the Ministry, and a feeling of immense safety tightened in her previously panting chest. "Tired, huh?" she mumbled, leaning in close to him. The Ministry Men were growing closer and the loud popping noises in the woods behind her signified that more were Apparating to the scene. She drew in a deep breath. Looking back down at Draco, Hermione watched his pointed features soften. He was loosing the battle he'd been fighting with the oncoming sleep, and Hermione knew it. He had lost a fair amount of blood and, quite frankly, Hermione was astounded that he had managed to stay conscious for as long as he had. Nonetheless, she felt comfort at the arrival of the Ministry around her.

Still, she drew her hand back and forth on top of him, heart beating when she glanced over the sweet and ignorant smile he gave her. "Well then," she told him, "you should get some rest."

His eyes slipped closed, and she knew that they had done so unwillingly. Still, Malfoy mumbled behind his facade of strength. "Mmm... I don't want t' g' t' sleep," he informed her lazily, and breathed in so deeply that his chest rose and fell against her bare forearm.

"I'll see you in the morning," Hermione promised him, and she knew that she had begun to converse with him while he was half way in the middle of being conscious and knocked out completely. But the footsteps of the Ministry Men were closing in from all around her, and the shouts of their voices rose over the madness that was the destruction of Hobb's Institution.

"Hmmm...," Draco breathed, and when he curled in against her, Hermione knew that he had finally succumbed to the inevitable. Thus, she sat with him in the temporary silence, listening to his breath rattle and holding his arm close to stop the bleeding. She waited for the noise to start up again, and when it finally did, Kingsley Shaklebolt was standing over her with a frown.

He said nothing at first, but instead bent down. She noticed that in the orange light of the fire, his face was gentle. Softly, he reached back towards Malfoy, pulling his shoulders away from Hermione and bringing his chin away from the safety he'd found next to her waist. Still, Draco's chest rose and fell rapidly, signaling that he had been alive, despite having been so badly injured. Thus, Kingsley nodded, breathing out before looking back up to Hermione. Around him, the rest of the men dove to the fire. However, it was Kingsley who had kept his stillness.

Hermione couldn't help herself. The quietness that Kingsley took on proved to be far too much for her to handle. "He's going to be alright, right?" she asked him, watching Draco's face contort with the odd perils of sleep. His chest bleed freely, and the cut on his neck was filthy with the addition of black ash and dirt.

Kingsley nodded. "Once he is transported to St. Mungo's, he will be," the dark man informed her, and Hermione relaxed a bit more. However, Kingsley held on to their steady gaze. He dropped Malfoy's jaw and allowed his sleeping figure to curl back into Hermione's with a little moan. A new set of footsteps cut off their bond and four novel shadows closed in around her. They wasted no time with their work, either. Eager to repair the broken mess that was Draco Malfoy before them, the dual pair of Ministry Men bent down low and brought out their wands from their pockets. And Hermione watched helplessly, silent as they lifted Draco from her lap, positioning him flatly on a floating white stretcher that seemed to appear out from the middle of nowhere.

"Hey! I've got to go with him," Hermione interjected, as they positioned Malfoy's limp and frail body back up on the soft, white plank. He looked so naive as he lie there, his fists unclenched and his mouth bloody and agape. She inched forward, peering over Kinglsey to get one last look at Malfoy as they strapped him in for good measure. But no one was there to argue with her, and she felt an overwhelming sense of happiness as Kingsley helped her walk back to him. Then she gripped his lifeless and loose hand, coiling her fingers within his like vines.

There was a loud pop and Hermione felt herself be yanked upwards. But the whole time she kept herself standing, her fingers fixated within Draco's. And the fire drew distant before it vanished from her view entirely. The forest was gone, the hill was gone, and the chaos was too. And when the swift tug of Apparating had stopped, Hermione opened her eyes to find that finally, they had found someplace safe.

* * *

"Draco."

The voice that filled Draco's heavy head was one that he recognized instantly. Yet the connotation of it was not one that he remembered so easily. Though he was certain that the figure seated before him was that of his father, the kind gentleness that he had claimed to his voice was almost completely unexpected. Still, Draco's eyes lifted lazily open, his head spinning from the rush of the previous afternoon. Nonetheless, he could see Lucius Malfoy seated there, bent forward so that he was touching his chest, despite the aching thing being buried underneath the fabric of comfortable while sheets.

It took Malfoy a moment to register where it was that he had been transported to. White walls covered his every turn, and a set of multiple tubes ran in and out of his pale body. He stalled for a moment, eyes wet, and then glanced back at his father with a rather uneasy expression. Before he could open his mouth, however, Lucius stepped in for him. "St. Mungo's," he replied, as if easily reading the look on his son's bruised face. He noted the closeness that the two shared within the moment and, feeling slightly uncomfortable, he drew himself back ever so slightly. "I insisted they find you a more proper room," he said stiffly, "yet they were certain that this one would do properly."

And Lucius let his awkwardness ramble on, lifting up his nose to give the simple bedroom yet another looking over. "Excuse the small size, Draco, if you can. The good thing, however, is that Kingsley has promised your stay is only to be temporary."

His stay? Draco's teary eyes glanced around. However he had ended up in St. Mungo's was beyond him. Nonetheless, he had still managed to remember everything up until he had embarrassingly passed out in Hermione's lap the night before. Feeling the ache in his ribs, Draco remembered the fire at Hobb's set by Leroy Beevis. He recalled running through the burning corridors, his hand in Hermione's, and setting the lost souls of the asylum free before escaping with Roy Little in the nick of time. And lastly, he remembered standing with Hermione on the emerald green hillside just by the building itself. It had been so chaotic then, so overwhelming, and he was certain that he'd just shut his eyes for a moment when Hermione had suggested they'd have a seat.

"What happened?" Draco managed to say weakly. The distinctly sore tone that his voice had taken was even a shock to him, and he noticed that his father winced slightly at the mere sound of it.

Lucius looked exhausted, the bags under his gray eyes made him look aged, as if he had not slept in days. However, he spoke with pure professionalism, his voice straight and to-the-point. "There was a fire at the asylum," he told Draco, though Malfoy had already known this. "The Ministry has placed Leroy Beevis responsible. According to witnesses within the building at the time, he started it in the bedroom that belonged to you before spreading the rest of it throughout the remainder of the place."

Malfoy pressed his eyes shut. He remembered everything, and his heart pounded swiftly in his aching chest. "What about the building?" he asked, though he wasn't exactly sure he wanted to know.

"It's gone," Lucius said flatly, "along with Leroy Beevis, the majority of the Hobb's staff, and that bastard Bowen."

"Gone?" Choked Draco, his head spinning. "They're dead?"

Lucius nodded. There was no sorrow in his gesture, either, though Malfoy did not expect it. He knew that Lucius considered the fallen among those who had deserved to die that night. "Don't feel sorry for them, Draco," he said in a voice that was slightly soothing. "You could not have prevented it." And very true to his father's character, Lucius added with harsh honesty, "though I think that the Wizarding World will do just fine without them."

For a moment, Draco lie in confusion. His head hurt and his body ached. He could not help but feel slightly sorry for the confused Leory Beevis. Though he hated himself for feeling happy at the news that Dr. Bowen had not made it out alive. The man had burned down with the building, fallen to ash with the place that he had so heavily relied upon. And perhaps it was the remaining Slytherin inside of him that made Draco feel comfort in that fact. Thus, the safety of a diminished Hobb's and its deceased ruler relaxed him slightly.

And he wondered, did that make him crazy? Or did it just make him human?

He felt his head rush subside, and his focus found the front of his father's stoney face yet again.

However, looking back at his father, Draco couldn't help but recall the very last time he had spoken with him. In the middle of his scattered thoughts, he pictured the expression on his father's horrified face, remembered how frustrated he had been with him in that moment in the woods. He recalled swiftly back to the moment when he had admitted out loud his infatuation with the very girl that his father could not stand. The tug at his throat was much more than he could understand, but the stoney look on his father's face made apologizing that much more unavoidable. He felt his head swirl, but he couldn't help himself. Nonetheless, he had never been more happy to see his father by his side in his entire life. "I'm so sorry, dad," he said hoarsely.

"Sorry?" Lucius' face contorted. No longer did he remain strange. Rather, a look of pure confusion washed over him. This time, he leaned backwards, folding his hands into his lap as he tilted his head. The older man's blond hair fell loosely around his face, despite being mostly held back by a emerald green tie at the back of his head. His fingers loosened at the end of his snake-faced walking stick and a large wrinkle of confusion slanted over his exposed white forehead. "What are you apologizing for?"

Draco felt the sway of further exhaustion hit him unexpectedly. He gritted his teeth, but allowed his face to redden. "For the way I ended up," he admitted a loud.

Lucius Malfoy had never looked more profoundly uncertain in his entire life. He kept his posture stiff, but fixed himself in his seat so that he could garner a more proper look at his son. When he had finally managed to fixate his body into a more suitable structure, he asked, "what on earth are you talking about?"

The younger Malfoy's face heated up. He hated his father for making him say it, but he couldn't help the words from tumbling from his mouth. "For shaming our family," he said, referring to his failed attempt at murdering Albus Dumbledore seven years ago. He was certain that his father still harbored grievances at him for that, despite the fact that it had not been mentioned since. Nonetheless, he continued rambling, and he avoided his father's gaze at all costs. He said, "for my fabricated marriage to Pansy, for the _bloody _asylum, for... Hermione."

But he could not count on Lucius' posture faltering. And Malfoy continued, feeling a strange release at getting everything and anything off of his sore chest. "I'm sorry that I didn't turn out the way that I was supposed to. And... I'm sorry that I am not the son that you always wanted." And it was true, everything; Draco knew it. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had never raised their son to end up the way that he had. Malfoy's were never supposed to back down, were never supposed to loose themselves, or fall for a Mudblood. He, Draco, had been nothing but a disappointment. In twenty-two short years, he had managed to do all of the above without even trying. And his stray came almost humiliatingly naturally to him. His fall really took no effort. Without much thinking, he had completely disgraced the work and effort that his parents had suffered a lifetime to give to him.

And for that reason he was sorry. Sorry for the disappointment and the shame. He hadn't meant to hurt his family in the process, hadn't meant to hurt Pansy, either. But Lucius wasn't saying a word, and Malfoy only felt more embarrassed. Lying alone in the hospital bed, he considered forcing himself asleep again just so he could avoid the still look in his father's matching gray eyes. Thus, he hated himself for become so dramatic, for making every single thing so difficult on everyone else. Yet he knew that his apology needed to be said, because living with the load on his shoulders had not really gotten him anywhere in his life thus far.

Though, the man had remained silent, allowing several minutes to pass before even managing to fix his expression into an entirely new one. And Malfoy felt uneasy, even when his father's expression softened, felt horrified even when he leaned forward and placed a strong hand on his bandaged arm. "Draco," he said, shaking his head, "you are twenty-two years old. You're not the boy on the Astonomy Tower, anymore. Besides," he continued, "I've never told you so but... I'm glad you didn't do it."

"What're you talking about?" Draco asked. He wasn't exactly sure that he had even heard his father correctly, and he sat dumbfounded, his own shoulders dropping.

"Murder," Lucius mused, "I never really liked the ordeal myself. Though I never did like that Albus Dumbledore, it was clear you weren't ready for it, Draco. And... you shouldn't have been asked to do it. Voldmort was right about you, though," he continued, "you never truly were a Death Eater."

But Draco remained confused, uncertain about the acceptance that his father had so swiftly taken on. "But," he started, feeling sore and achy. "What about Hermione?"

"Oh," Lucius retorted, "that." Rigidly he readjusted himself, pulling back again away from Draco with a stern glance and a bit of an absent demeanor. "Just so you know, I have been informed that Granger was there to help you out of that fire set by that raging lunatic." He kept his posture, allowed his eyes to hold true to the walls, rather than his son. And though Draco wasn't completely sure of it, he guessed that his father was coming to something of an acceptance with the situation. "I've... spoken with her- briefly, of course- about the events that conspired that night and," he paused, chewing uncertainly on his lower lip, "she seems... relatively level-headed."

Malfoy lifted his brow. "Are you saying you're okay with this?" he asked, feeling a bit better at the mere thought of his father's blessing.

"I'm saying that you are far too old for me to go around telling you who you can and cannot associate yourself with, Draco," Lucius counteracted.

"Y-You..." Draco tried, "you _approve_ of Hermione?"

The blond man slumped down, rubbing his son's hands in the same soft way that he remembered Hermione had only the night before. Though an entire day had passed since Draco had been conscious, he couldn't help but feel relaxed at the new existence he had woken up to. Nonetheless, Lucius Malfoy kept a stiff upper lip. "Hardly- and I wouldn't go that far, Draco," he quipped. However, lowering his gaze, he tossed his head to the side and considered his options. Then, lifelessly, he admitted, "but, if you must know, your mother seems to have taken a rather annoying liking towards her."

Draco laughed. A slight rush filled his head and he felt numb with the thrill of it. At least, he thought, he was a start. When he felt his father rush forward, however, he wasn't sure what hit him. And the next thing he knew, the man was up against him, his arms wrapped around his shoulders, embracing him tightly in a hug that almost knocked the wind right out of him. "Are you alright now, Draco?" Lucius asked, his voice small and weak- so much so, in fact, that Draco felt strange and uneasy upon hearing something so timid escape his father's normally strong chest.

Blinking, Malfoy nodded, his bandaged head patched up just below the line of his blond scalp. "'M fine, dad," he told the man.

Thus, Lucius picked himself back up, forming his body into a steady stance. "Good," he said, smoothing out the front of his clothing. He seemed to have some trouble readjusting himself again, but he managed to reconstruct his torso into a stiff little structure before leaning back away from the hospital bed again. When he had finally composed himself, he scoffed to his son in a tone that was rather proud, "just like a Malfoy, always back upon their feet in no time." He cleared his throat. Darting towards the hospital door with his eyes, Lucius stated aloud, "your mother's been in and out of your room a couple times since you arrived here late yesterday afternoon." His pale face was tainted a slight shade of shrimpy pink, and he gripped his walking stick as if he were more than ready to take his leave. "Shall I tell her you're up?"

Draco nodded, feeling the urge to both hug his father and laugh. "If you'd like," he said with a smile, and Lucius nodded.

"Narcissa has been worried sick, the poor woman," he said, turning back towards the thing and gripping it with his pale fingers. Over his shoulder, he gave Draco one final glance. "I trust you're okay on your own for a moment, correct?" And when Draco nodded, Lucius did too. "Ah," he coughed, "right." And, with that, he was gone in the instant.

And perhaps Hermione was right- perhaps things were never supposed to go as originally planned. Sooner or later, life would just get in the way. And how could it not? In fact, Draco Malfoy's existence had turned out to be the complete opposite of how he had ever imagined it would. But that was okay- it was fine- marvelous, even. He didn't need schedules, didn't need plans. He had Hermione. And besides, he was beginning to love spontaneity.


	36. All Mad Here

**Vonne: **This is it! The very last chapter of Basket Case! It has been a long, long time since this story started with 'Radio', made even longer when I accidentally deleted 'Basket Case' a couple months back. Nonetheless, we've finally made it! I am so happy to see this come to the end that I've always planned on it having. Thank you to everyone who reviewed. For the last and final time, you can read how much I appreciate all of the lovely reviews I have been left. Thank you so much! However, I have to give a special thanks to these people:

**OanDuress**, **WeatherWatch**, **Voldyismyfather**, **Psychic City**, **Le Candeh**, **LuckyStar1881**, **MCLanna**, **Carl**, **Lively McBrighten**, **TragicSlytherin**, **Doni**, **Corey Fitzwilliam**, **ali-lou**, **Alice Wednesday**, and **Pearlrose33**. Though I received many emails of favorites, chapter alerts, and other notifications, these fourteen people managed to come back to 'Basket Case' and review for almost every single chapter that I submitted. Thank you so much, all of you because, without you, I would have absolutely no motivation to update this story whatsoever. I dedicate 'Basket Case' to you as a honest and sincere thanks. You are all so awesome and I can't thank you enough. Keep reading and writing!

And, of course, one last big and separate thanks to **M.R girl**, who helped me out of my issue when I had accidentally deleted 'Basket Case' all those months ago. I am so lucky that she had saved all the chapters I had deleted onto her computer. Otherwise, we would definitely not be where we are today- the final end- due to my obvious laziness. So, thank you! I also dedicate 'Basket Case' to you. ;) Here is the final chapter to save to your documents; I hope you continue to enjoy it, even after it is finished.

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**Epilogue:**  
**We're All Mad Here**

_Three Months Later..._

Somewhere in the woods that rest just behind the large Manor that belonged to the prestige Malfoys, a small little clearing stood hidden among the brush. Secluded, it rest beyond the thick trees and blocked out the majority of the sky, casting shade upon all that had stepped inside of it. It was a peacefully quiet place, set out of the boundaries of the everyday hustle and bustle of the busy Wizarding World. And the tiny wildlife that resided within it kept themselves silent, too, as if too courteous to disrupt the serenity that the simple clearing had given to the world. Moving in slow strides, birds chirped generously and bugs buzzed rhythmically. And the sparkling blue pond that flowed in the clearing's very center only reflected the sheer tranquility of the spot- nonetheless, this particular morning was different.

However, what was disrupting the profound calmness was nothing more than two uninvited beings. In a rather loud and steady manner, they used their voices to shout back and forth at one another, witty and almost that much more unstoppable. And they seemed almost delirious, oblivious to the massive amount of noise they were making together. Yet, all was forgiven; for the peaceful world around them seemed to allow it. Rather, the two had been enjoying themselves almost far too much. And, standing opposite one another, each had their wands drawn out, pointed back and forth. Their loud breaths only blended in with the sound of the upbeat and whistling wind.

"So," came a voice that was challenging and stern, "you think you're capable of beating me, do you?" For a tone that belonged to Hermione Jean Granger, the girl had managed to sound almost convincingly daunting and impossibly tough. Though, admittedly, she had managed to look that way, as well. With her back straightened, Hermione's arm was out in a stiff manner, her upper lip curled into that of a clever and mischievous smile. She paid no attention to the wind that rattled her hair and made it spastic, causing it to fly around her head in all different directions. Instead, her eyes were focused on the figure in front of her, and that figure alone.

"Don't make me laugh," her opponent scoffed. "I'll have you know that I am more than capable." The second voice came from that of Draco Malfoy, who stood erect and casual in front of her own torso. Though his face was bruised and scraped, he looked well-adjusted and composed in his usual attire of a simple white button-up and pressed black trousers. Sticking out his elbow, the blond made a face, and he looked almost obscenely serious when he said, "even in this _sling_ I am more than bloody '_capable'."_

It had been a matter of ninety days since Draco had left St. Mungo's, and even he couldn't believe that things were finally starting to look up. He'd even gotten used to the bruises on his face and the ache that had been unfortunately permanent in his limbs. Nonetheless, everything was beginning to heal and, over time, he had come to look somewhat normal again. And he'd even started to put together a brand new life for himself, too; after a month with Hermione's help, he had managed to step out in public without a disguise. No one bothered him when he did venture outside the Manor, either; they'd all heard about what happened to him, perhaps had even felt a bout of sympathy, too. And then, at two months, he'd moved out of the Manor completely.

That, of course, was far more horrifying than Draco could have even imagined. However, he had been the one that insisted upon it. Hermione had found a small place that was graciously secluded from the fast-paced world of Hogsmeade. It was rather tiny, but Draco had to admit that he had eventually found comfort in it. Still, he'd remembered the first time he had ever toured the place; hand in hand with Hermione, his broad shoulders had slumped when he'd initially peered in through the front door. "This is it?" he had asked out loud, feeling almost utterly out of place in a home that was not as grand as the place he had grown up in.

"Of course this is it," Hermione had teased, pushing him in through the doorframe with two forceful palms. "Your _parents_ were the rich ones, not you, remember?" And she had shown him the living room that was completely bare, before directing him into the bedroom that looked the same, aside from one single mattress in the very center. Then, she had wrapped her slender arms around his shoulders, rubbing them calmly despite his obvious sling. It was as if she could tell he was not certain, so she lowered her voice and made it almost unbelievably seductive when she had bent down to whisper in his ear, "hmm... what is it, Draco? You don't think it looks... cozy?"

Being away from the Manor had given him time to clear his head, and he relished in the fact that he no longer had to walk the halls of his childhood home without having horrible memories rush into his thoughts. Furthermore, living with Hermione had been enjoyable- marvelous even. And though they resided within the same confines of the cozy house, they still sometimes used their tiny toy radios to communicate in something of a cheeky inside joke.

When two and a half months went by, the feeling of normalcy had finally started to flow back to him. Without the additional stress in his life, he had stopped seeing very much of Voldemort, as he was grateful that Hermione was there to keep him level-headed. Of course, the deceased man had shown up every once in a while after a bad nightmare, but Elaine Galer had promised that the image was only in Draco's head, a curse that could be controlled. Hermione was happy to be of assistance however; she knew exactly how to cheer Draco up whenever she found that he was feeling particularly anxious.

Nonetheless, he and Hermione had always found time to trickle out of their new home and plan a day in the clearing that Draco Malfoy had always loved so much. Ever since he had been given back his wand, Draco had been more than eager to put it to good use and Hermione had suitably come up with just the trick. And while partaking in harmless dueling battles against one another seemed outwardly childish, both Draco and Hermione relished in the fact that they could still kick each other's ass.

Thus, where they were now was pure bliss. Too caught up in the challenge of playfully hexing the other, neither of the two were thinking much about anything else. It had been three months since he had left St. Mungo's and Draco was back up on his feet, much to Hermione's joy. And this month had come even faster than Draco had imagined; he had to admit that it was a nice feeling after all. For he had finally found himself in an existence that was stable and comfortable. He lived with the woman he loved and did so happily. And that was all he could have possible asked for.

Still, at the moment he desired nothing more than to knock her off her feet and wipe that cocky little smirk off her beautifully mischievous face.

He snapped back to reality and the little duel he had taken up with his girlfriend. A sadistic smirk passed over his own pointed complexion and he shifted his weight back, relaxing his arm in his sling for good measure. With that, he lifted up an eyebrow and waited for her response. However, Hermione was already two steps ahead of him.

"You little prat," she said, stepping forward with a splendidly greedy laugh. She struck the tip of her wand back up towards Draco's chin. The tone of her voice was upbeat with excitement, and she leaned to one side, sticking out her hip in a way that made Draco feel almost weak with desire. "You know," she said lazily, "I think I've grown tired of you, anyway, Draco. One more nasty little comeback like that and I think I'll just turn you back into a ferret. You know, I've been looking into getting a pet."

Draco's face reddened, however, he managed to pull of appearing casual by allowing his head to fall to one side. "Yeah, yeah, Granger," Draco breathed cooly, "you're all talk."

"Oh, really?" Hermione leaned back. She cross her arms over her chest and let the wind pull her hair back away from her pale face. She drew her slender body back again, however, and extended her wand outward. With the very tip of it, she smoothed back the flimsy blond hair that fell slanted across Draco's forehead. Unimpressed, Malfoy's eyes lowered lazily. He huffed, laughing at her efforts with an expression on his face that was rather sarcastic and unafraid. "_Rictusempra!" _

Instantly, Draco's body stiffened. Then, he fumbled to the ground, watching in horror as a lively smile spread across Hermione's face. And Malfoy couldn't help it. He felt hands that were nonexistent run up and down his ribcage, tickling him mercilessly. He shook, moving his hands to clutch his own torso. Hugging himself, Draco pulled his knees up to his chest and he couldn't help but smile as bursts of inescapable tickles took over his lanky body. "You- little-" he coughed, but couldn't get out the rest.

And Hermione bent down, her hands on her bent knees. "I'm sorry," she asked, looking lovely, "what was that, Draco? I didn't quite catch it."

"Caught-_ pfftt ha ha_- me- _ha ha ha ha-_ off- guard!" Malfoy sputtered, but his interjection did not do much to convince Hermione.

"You have to always be ready. I thought you knew that, Draco," Hermione beamed cheerfully, and she took a seat in front of the wriggling Malfoy.

However, Draco saw his chance and took it. "_Obscuro!"_ he giggled, and tears rolled frantically down his red cheeks.

Hermione's body inched backwards and she let out a little grunt. Draco's harmless hex had cast a simple white blindfold over Hermione's set of brown eyes and she fumbled towards the grass, scuttling backwards like a crab before shouting out, "hey!" However, Draco was too preoccupied to relish in his successful hit. The sensation of merciless tickling had flooded through him and he laughed uncontrollably, both at the overwhelming feeling, and the sight of a blinded Hermione. Her hands reached up towards her face, trying unsuccessfully to pry the cloth from her eyes. Over the sound of Malfoy's high pitched giggles, Hermione couldn't help but laugh. She screamed girlishly, "you bloody git! I can't see!"

Malfoy's face contorted. "I can't- _ha ha ha ha_- breathe!_ AHAHAHAHA!" _

"Fine!" The brunette breathed, slumping forward. She only wished that she had her vision so that she could see one last glimpse of her lovely boyfriend in absolute hysterics. "_Finite Incantatem!" _It only took a moment; slipping back into a normal posture, Draco felt the tickling stop. With a large gasp of air, he lifted his head and then let it touch the ground again. Nonetheless, he blinked the remaining tears from his eyes and collected himself. With that, he crawled back up to his feet, garnering a steady stance before wobbling back towards Hermione and standing over her. Yet she sat stiffly on the ground before him, her eyebrow cocked upwards, waiting for her turn to be released. "Alright, Draco," she sighed toothily, "get this bloody thing off of me."

Draco lowered himself to the ground, squatting before her just as she had done before him. "Now why would I want to go and do a stupid thing like that?" he asked her, and smiled when her own beam faltered.

_"__Draco- _bloody-___ Malfoy_!" Hermione screeched.

Malfoy beamed. "You're cute when you're pissed, have I ever told you that?" Hermione huffed, but Draco leaned forward, extending his arm and coiling his fingers within hers. He did not remove the blindfold from her face, but instead led her up from the ground and gently moved her across the grass. And he ignored her pout. Instead, he kept her moving, leading her towards the trunk of a rather impressive and thick tree. Once he'd had her back against it, he let his fingers rise and tweeked her boyishly on the nose.

"Bastard," Hermione scoffed, but she couldn't help but beam. "You've had your fun, now take this blindfold off of me so I can hex the shit out of you."

Malfoy broke out in a smile. "Now that doesn't convince me at all," he told her, and his fingers clutched the circumference of his own wand. How great it felt to have the thing back in his possession. All of it had been made possible thanks to Hermione. "You're going to have to try far harder than that, Granger."

Hermione inhaled and her nostrils flared. Putting on a facade of aggression that was almost completely sarcastic, she leaned back against the tree trunk and twisted her fingers around her own wand. "Take this _bloody_ blindfold off of me right now or else, Malfoy."

"Or else?" Draco Malfoy had heard some pretty absurd things in his day, but Hermione's threat had just about topped everything. He could not get passed her giggling demeanor or the sly little smile she wore across her pale front. Yet the casually cool posture she had taken had completely sent him over the edge. _Or else?_, he thought, _how unfortunately unimaginative._ And with that he slipped his hand up to her cheek and patted it, saying cheekily, "I was hoping you would be more creative than that."

Yet Hermione shrugged, her thin little shoulders reaching up to a point so high that they almost grazed her earlobes. "So then," she asked, lowering her head down ever so slightly so that her long brown hair brushed past her thin little shoulder. "If you do plan on keeping me blinded, what do you plan on doing to me?" And, despite her eyes being covered, Hermione's smile rose. It spread across her pale face and she flashed Draco her set of white teeth. Draco stammered; she'd caught him- he had absolutely no plans for the further torture of Hermione Jean Granger. And, nervously, he tried to rack his brain for something suitable. Yet his time of need had seemed to be failing him; he could not for the life of him think of a fitting enough hex to curse her with. Thus, Hermione relished in his turmoil, sensing it from even behind the mask of her blindfold. Still, her smile grew far wider, her lips parting restlessly. Nonetheless, she folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot. Her eyebrows almost completely skyrocketed. "Is that a stammering I hear?"

Draco's upper lip stiffened. "Certainly not," he exclaimed, but he found himself backing away from her at the tree trunk with another simple stumble.

"No?" Hermione teased, reaching outwards. She had noticed that Draco had left her side, and her outstretched arms felt around the space in front of her for him. Yet she managed to feel the ground in front of her with her feet, swiftly wiping out the grass before her with the tip of her pointed boot. "Was that a 'no', Malfoy? I could barely hear you over the loud sound of your own gulping." She heard him mumble something, though she could not quite put her finger on what it was that she was saying. Still, nonetheless, she ignored the blatant popping sound that came out from the end of the brush someplace. Without much focus, she twisted her body forward and kept her fingers out towards Malfoy, wriggling them in the process.

Still, she had not heard him. Ever since she had heard him mumble, he had fallen completely silent and, behind the blindfold, Hermione could not help but feel as if she had been left completely alone there in the lovely little clearing. A cold chill ran up her spine and she hoped she had not offended him. Thus, her strong voice took on a tone that was rather meek. She brought her hands out further, stretched her arms out so far that she almost felt an ache in her shoulders in the process.

Hermione brought her hands up to the blindfold, giving it one last useless tug. Damn Draco Malfoy and his harmless hexes; the blindfold had to be removed by his hands only, and she knew it. Sighing, she redirected herself, placing her hands back out in front of her chest in hopes of trapping the blond strategically. But when a slight rustle sounded out around her, Hermione couldn't hlep but blink, despite being blinded. She stopped, freezing in the middle of the grassy clearing, and hoped that she had not walked close enough to the lake to fall in.

She tilted her head to one side, brushing her hair out of her face. "Malfoy?" No one answered her- she could not even hear his breaths. However, then the sound of his continual feet scraped back through the brush. They advanced towards her and she could tell that he was purposely pushing her. Thus, she chewed on her bottom lip, bobbling her head to one side as if she could peer through the fabric of the blindfold if she truly tried. And she shivered when she felt his hands brush her cheek. Lightly, Draco's usually cold fingers were warm against her face, and she couldn't help but feel overjoyed when he ran the tips of them down her collarbone. "Give up?" Hermione challenged, and Draco still remained absolutely silent.

Then she reeled back, placing one hand on her hip as she turned her chin upwards. "Is this your brilliant plan, then?" Hermione couldn't help it when her smile faded. "The silent treatment?" It felt so nice to have him standing right in front of her, despite the distance he kept. Only, he used a single hand to grace her shoulder, bringing it back up to her jawline before brushing past her chilled and purple lips. She wasn't sure if he was trying to taunt her by keeping his space, but she could not overlook the fact that the obvious space was rather getting to her. Because, really, she only wanted to bring him close, perhaps even take back the tickling hex she had tormented him with only moments ago.

Defeated, her shoulders sank. "I'm sorry for the hex," she admitted. "Is that what this is about?" Malfoy's fingers smoothed over the space of her lips, pressing a single pointer across them carefully. She felt the wobble of his head shake, and Hermione writhed her hands. She said seriously, "Draco Malfoy, you take this blindfold off of me _right now..."_

And then his hands lifted. For the first time she he had come back in towards her, Hermione felt Draco's fingers back upon her face. They held themselves there for only a moment, however, before they slipped back behind her head. Twisting, his long fingers worked with the tie of the blindfold and Hermione breathed out- it was about bloody time. Huffing, Hermione allowed him to take his time, keeping her eyes shut as she felt him pull away and readjust himself hastily. Then, she brought her eyes open, slowly, as if she were fully prepared to lay one on him.

However, she had not expected to see him standing before her in the way that he was. Thus, she held back her scolding at the sight of him; smiling and stiff, Draco Malfoy held out in front of her a large bouquet of blossoming flowers that sprouted from the end of his lengthy wand. He was beaming, glowing even, and she could not deny that he looked gloriously dashing in his bright blond hair and olive green scarf. And she even liked the way that his hair was a mess, taken up by the wind in a way that made it rest across his forehead in a slanted and nonchalant manner. His gray eyes sparkled innocently at her and his cheeks were red from the intensity of the chill around him. He was not looking at the bouquet, but instead at Hermione- and he was humored, tickled even, at the expression of fading aggravation on her face.

His demeanor was still strong, however, and he pressed himself forward towards her as he extended out his hand with the bouquet slowly. And it was a swift moment that reminded her of the same Malfoy she had known- swift, confident, and charming. She found that quite liked that, too. Thus, when she whispered, "flowers, how... cliche," she didn't even mind it when Draco whisked her up in towards his chest and pressed his mouth against hers so tenderly that her own head pounded as she registered the moment. She blinked when they both pulled away, staring into his eyes as she lifted the flowers from his wand and cradled them against her side. Still, Hermione slackened, tilting her head and inquiring out loud, "what was that for?"

Malfoy shrugged, lifting his shoulder with such ease that made her feel comfortable, satisfied, and safe. "For sticking with me over the past couple months," he said simply.

"Sticking with you, huh?" Hermione asked him, and she let him brush her wild hair out of her face.

Draco nodded. "Every single mad bit of me," he said, reassuring her.

"Mad." Hermione stalled, mulling over the statement in her head carefully. Mad- what did it actually mean to her anyway? In her mind, Draco had never really reached a point of madness. Sure, he'd lost his direction, but she was quite certain that such confusion was inevitable... human, even. Mad. She couldn't even think of a proper definition for the term. What was mad anyway? The point of what- no return? "Mad, huh?" Hermione looked back into Malfoy's gray eyes and adjusted her weight. "Do you really think that you were every really 'mad', Draco?"

Considering the circumstances, Malfoy had to say that he hadn't. Nothing was ever truly wrong with his head- at least, medically speaking. He'd been hexed, cursed; it was something that he'd have to live with his whole entire life. But _mad_? He thankfully had the approval from the Ministry of otherwise, however, he still couldn't come up with a proper reason why he still did not consder himself to have lost it all those months ago. In his head, he tried to count off all the crazy things that he had done. He'd been engaged to Pansy... he'd slept with her. He'd drank himself silly and had to be yanked out of the local pub by his father. He'd tried to end his life by jumping off a bloody bridge and, when Hermione was there to save him, he still had not had it figured out that her voice was the one at the end of the radio.

So, mad? He wasn't exactly certain. Stupid, maybe. Ignorant, for sure. But mad? He mulled it over only to discover that the possibilities were endless. Sure, he was not medically insane, but something about him kept him rooted. Thus, he agreed upon it, reassuring himself of the very same answer that he had stated only moments ago. "Yes, I was very much a mental case," he told her, and the corners of his mouth fell into a slightly serious smile.

"Well then," Hermione blinked. Her face was rosy red from the chill that swirled all around her. But she pulled herself back tilting her head to one side in a way that was rather innocent with understanding. She mulled over the presence of Draco Malfoy, his hair ruffled up in the wind so that it looked like a rebellious mop at the top of his head. He was beginning to look even more and more like a grunge being, as well. Dressed in a peacoat, his hands held her shoulders with only thin little gloves to protect his fingers. "I must be mad, as well, then," she told him, and Malfoy's brow lifted.

Hermione Granger- mad? Draco was certain he'd misheard her. After everything, Hermione had been the one with the level-head. "How so?"

She lifted her hands and fiddled with the petals of the flowers in her hands. Looking sweet and somewhat pure, Hermione lifted an eyebrow and offered her words as a suggestion. But her voice was quite quite, timid even. She turned her head to lift her eyes and, with a simple smile, she placed the flowers up to the end of her nose before letting them touch the grass below her gently. "Well, I'm _madly _in love with you," Hermione suggested, and Draco's face crunched up as if he were about to keel over.

"Geez, Granger," Draco retorted, "could you _be _anymore cheesy?"

Nonetheless, Hermione pushed forward, pressing her body up against him so that there was not even the slightest amount of space in between them. She pressed her mouth against his, laughing slightly to find that he had been caught rather off guard, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a way that made him have to lean forward slightly to remain at her level. Her hands writhed through his hair and his blond locks, pushing them out of his face so that she could get a more proper look at the surprised expression on his translucent face. Then, when she stepped back, she offered him a grin that made her brown eyes spark in the lack of sufficient light.

Perhaps she had been a bit cheesy, but she had done so intentionally- she knew it and Draco clearly knew it. Yet, she giggled at the humor of it all, happy to have found someone who was so quick to laugh with her. Still, it had not meant that she did not mean what she had said. Because she had. She, Hermione Jean Granger, was in love with Draco Malfoy. "You know," she told him, slipping her hand into his and leading him away from the center of the brushy clearing. "I would have never guessed it... living with Draco Malfoy. Five years ago, I wouldn't have believed myself."

She pressed her back against the tree and the two of them, together, slipped down to the ground easily. "Clearly," Draco said with in a voice that was laced with sarcastic undertone, "you and I living together is proof alone that we've both gone mad." However, once Draco's lower half touched the ground, his face slipped into a rather blatant frown. "Why are we sitting?" he asked her, and stood up from his couch to stand over her in a manner that was slouched and somewhat apprehensive.

Looking dubiously exhausted, Hermione's eyes flicked upwards to meet together with Draco's. "Why are we sitting? What on earth are you talking about?"

"Sitting," Malfoy said simply. "I've had enough_ sitting_." He looked almost childishly sincere when he'd said it. Arm wrapped up in a white sling, Draco did look like he could use a bit of time to get out of the house and stretch his legs. Ever since he had made it out of the fire at Hobb's, he'd been walking with a slight limp and Hermione only noticed it getting better once he took to walking it off.

Still, she asked, "you're tired of sitting?"

"Yes, a bit."

"And what would you like to do otherwise?" Nights were Hermione and Draco's 'date' times, of sorts. They'd planned trips to the clearing on a regular basis and the most they ever did was sit. Granted, the scenery was nice and, of course, they'd had a bit of history behind it. However, Hermione and Draco had never done much of anything else besides relax. And snog. Or whatever else had come to mind. Yet Hermione could see that Draco's eyes were not hinting at any suggestion of the three S's- sitting, snogging, _or_ sex. Instead, she saw that, he really just wanted movement.

Draco's eyes scanned the brush and, when he'd met up with the sparkle of the frozen over pond before him, he said, "only a couple more days until the pond melts again," with a shrug that was excited and boyish. And Hermione saw this, readily picking herself up to advance towards the pond with Draco hot on her heels. She tested the surface once with her boot and then slid onto the twinkling ice. By the time she had spun around, Draco had already placed himself upon it, as well, and he made his way over to her with a slight stumble that was brushed off by means of a nervous little laugh.

She didn't say much of anything in the time that it had taken him to make his way over to her. Instead, she tilted her head and waited, calling out once to say, "you look like a one-winged pigeon with that sling," and laughed out at him with a mischievous smile. Malfoy's slip made her smirk double and, leaning forward, she put on a squinted expression before pulling back to say in a voice that was mock-disgusted, "you're just so ungraceful."

"Oh, come off it, Granger," Draco coughed, and he picked himself up from his spill on the ice to glide back towards her with a far more cautious step. Slipper though the ice was, Draco had scooted across it to come together with Hermione, his hand outstretched so that he could grasp onto hers for support. At her unimpressed gaze, Draco rolled his eyes, contemplating tripping her for his own amusement before contemplating snogging her for being so deliciously malicious. "You're not supposed to make fun of me, you know," he told her, grasping in a clinging matter onto her shoulder as she scooted across the ice. "You should," he almost landed on his face in the process of motion and, readjusting himself despite Hermione's obvious amusement, Draco continued, "k-know better."

"'K-Know better, s-should I?" Hermione beamed, mocking him teasingly.

Malfoy's nose scrunched up. "A bloke should not be made fun of by his girlfriend," he informed her, "it's not... proper dating conduct."

"You're ridiculous." Hermione joked, and she gently moved his arms from her shoulders, forcing him to hold her hand tenderly as she watched him regain himself before her.

Laughing, Draco could not help the red tint that the tip of his nose took on. Ridiculous was he now? Well, that was perfectly okay with him. "Ridiculous, am I?" he shrugged, "well, take it as it is then, Granger. Ridiculous is one step up from crazy."

Hermione considered this and then, nodded with approval. Agreeing, she said, "I think this is progress!" and Malfoy's feet finally stilled themselves properly. "Now," she said, "that's enough talk of madness. I don't want to talk about insanity ever again in my lifetime. Deal?"

"Deal?" Draco turned to glance at her, his eyebrow lifted. "What do you mean 'deal'? I think the topic is a good conversation starter of sorts." He slid away from her slightly and held out his hand as if just greeting her for the first time. Then, he put on a voice that was tasteful with manners. "Hello, my name is Draco Malfoy and I was convicted to an asylum for the criminally insane a couple months ago. Funny story, if you really think about it- there was a massive fire and I just sort of ran out the front door. Would you like to hear it?"

"I don't think you'll make many new friends that way," Hermione informed him.

"Oh, I think otherwise," Draco insisted, shaking his head.

Hermione bit her lip, suppressing a helpless laugh. She remained still in the center of the iced over pond, watching Draco as he regained his footing. Finally, when he had picked himself up, he stood in front of her, eyebrow cocked up highly. His thin lips were twisted into a smile and she knew that he was waiting for her to crack. Thus, she could not quite keep herself contained. After a very short time span, Hermione gave in, red in the face, scooting back towards him and shouting, "I'm serious! No more crazy talk... ever!"

Draco lifted his shoulders. "Well you're going to have to give me something in order to keep me from talking about sanity, Granger."

"I could have Harry cook you an amazing dinner tomorrow night?" Hermione offered.

"Potter _cooks?" _Draco Malfoy's smile widened. In his head, he could think of a handful of jokes about the bit of information that Hermione had just given him. Potter, the cook, huh? The Boy who Lived, Lives to Cook. The thought of it alone made Malfoy almost overwhelmed with laughter, though he managed only to hiccup, trying almost unsuccessfully to hide his amusement. "Anyway, no thanks." He tilted his head to one side and his blond locks swept over his forehead. "Potter cooking me dinner- no matter how amusing it would be- would imply the two of us having to actually spend an afternoon at their place."

Hermione chewed passively on her bottom lip, saying honestly, "Harry and Ron aren't completely against the idea of you coming over every so once in a while anymore, for your information." She seemed a bit coy, curling away from him with a gentle smile and a soft wink. Then she placed her hand on his freezing cold chin and tilted her own head to one side. "They mentioned something about it recently."

"Did they now?"

"Certainly did. However, I'm fairly certain you're going to have to cook _them _their first dinner before Harry prepares one for you, I'm afraid."

Draco shrugged, smiling. That was fine with him, of course, though he wasn't exactly sure he wanted to eat over at Ron and Harry's place; he was almost one hundred percent positive that either one of the two would slip something in his wine over the course of the night and, quite frankly, he wasn't fully ready for such an afternoon. He told himself, however, that one day he would be and that he would come prepared to such events- perhaps even stop at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes in anticipation of it.

Thus, the blond put on a strange little smile and he turned back to Hermione with a simple shrug. "Alright, I will make something special."

"That doesn't sound too friendly." Hermione scolded and Malfoy only lifted his brow. "What are you hiding?"

"Nothing," Draco joked. "I'm only trying to remember the some ancient family recipes."

"Liar."

Hermione couldn't help it; though his joke was probably half-so, she smiled and pressed her head against his good shoulder. He sagged a bit with the added weight of her, but proceeded to wrap his arm around her and place an earnest kiss on the crown of her head in the process. And they slipped around the ice together in that way, intertwined in the freezing cold, their bodies close enough to keep one another warm. Thus, the two of them stared out at a future that they never thought that they would even find themselves considering- one together.

But that was okay- more than okay. It was fantastic and exciting. There were so many possibilities. And Draco was certain he had never been more overjoyed or excited in his life. Hermione was beautiful and supportive, optimistic and thrilling. She was spontaneous and brilliant, and she was never really in much of a sour mood. He was going to enjoy living with her, making her tea in the morning and arguing half-seriously over who stole the covers in the previous night. Over time, when his shoulder healed completely, he would challenge her to a more proper duel- though he was fairly certain she'd still be just as difficult of competition to him. He thought about this as he looked at the pond and the frozen over surface of it. He wasn't sure why, but he found himself wanting to come back in the summer, when the thing defrosted, to take a swim with her in the shade. He didn't know why; he just wanted to.

And Hermione, she was busy thinking, as well. In her head she thought of all the wonderful things she had never considered about Draco Malfoy. He was attractive and humorous, an entirely new person than the boy she had met all those years ago at the young age of only eleven. He was complicated, but that was okay because so was she and, who wasn't anymore anyways? He had his problems and so did she. As far as Hermione was concerned, the benefits far outweighed the costs.

So maybe he was a bit crazy, and maybe she was too. But crazy meant exciting and thrilling and everything in between. In her mind, crazy wasn't exactly a bad thing, as long as it was a reasonable amount of impaired sanity. She'd decided, she loved it- perhaps most about him. And maybe, she thought, being crazy wasn't such a bad thing; it made him impulsive, caring, and gentle. He was everything he'd ever needed to be; perfectly human, faulty, but progressive.

Maybe the best ones were.

* * *

**Vonne: **The end!


End file.
